Odds and Ends
by tlyxor1
Summary: The obligatory plot bunny depository. Predominantly Harry Potter related. AU's. Crossovers. Gender Benders, among others.
1. Stars in the Dark I: HP Walking Dead

**Stars in the Dark**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own either 'Harry Potter' or 'Walking Dead'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** When Voldemort died, Beth Potter imagined peace. She got a zombie apocalypse instead. Hope would never be lost though, and it would always be darkest before the dawn. AU. OOC. Fem!Harry/Blaise.

**Rating:** M for language, violence, adult themes, gore, character death and, oh yeah, zombies.

**Author:** tlyxor1.

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**Stars in the Dark**

**Chapter One: Atlanta **

_If I'm forced to travel on _

_And end up farther from my home _

_To live forever here alone _

_Well, I don't think I'll last too long _

_**Atlanta - Ron Pope **_

They cruised along an endless stretch of highway, their windows down and the wind through their hair. Ron Pope crooned quietly through the speakers, Elizabeth Potter hummed along to the string of velvet tones and pretty words, and at the wheel, Blaise Zabini flicked his gaze over her, lazy smile on his Mediterranean features.

"I don't think this is what any of us imagined when you said you'd show us the world, love," Elizabeth observed, and in her lap, she fingered the pistol they'd liberated from a town they'd passed by hours ago.

"Yeah, well, neither did I," Blaise acknowledged, "But then, who ever imagines the zombie apocalypse?"

Beth cracked a smile, and her verdant eyes were bright. "Touche."

In all actuality, Beth, Blaise, and their four friends had made plans to travel the world for twelve months after their final year at school. Beth had never been out of Britain, Blaise had been determined to show her all she'd missed out on, and the four others had decided to tag along before the real world caught up to them. That was what had brought them to America, in what was their second stop after a road trip around Britain and Ireland.

They'd been road tripping around America, seeing the sites, experiencing the culture, enjoying the food, and what have you. And then, after two months, everything went to hell in a hand basket in one fell swoop.

Behind them, Draco Malfoy snorted himself awake, Daphne Greengrass stirred against his side, and in the back row, neither Theo nor Tracey flinched. They were still out cold, and the way they slept, and after seven years of dorm life, none of the four others expected that to change anytime soon. It was almost just an accepted fact these days, and Beth was impressed that they could be woken up at all.

"Where are we?" Draco asked, eyes still clouded by sleep.

"Somewhere in Georgia," Beth answered, "You've been asleep for a few hours."

"Any change?"

"No," Blaise replied, "We'll have to stop for some more fuel though. I think we're getting close to Atlanta. Fucking mileage system."

Draco turned to look over his shoulder, to the two canisters of fuel they'd accumulated in the last few days. They'd been protected by a containment ward that ensured the fuel didn't spill, the smell didn't spread, and the fumes weren't inhaled.

"Why? He had a comically confused expression on his face, and Beth grinned at the sight."

The presence of the fuel canisters unfortunately meant all their stocked food supplies had been stored in their trunks to avoid contamination - a precautionary measure - and their stockpile of weapons were deposited on the floor beneath their feet.

No one was complaining though, because if it meant less time spent siphoning fuel and therefore, less time at risk of becoming zombie chow, than yeah, they'd travel with twenty litres of fuel in their boot without hesitation.

"That's an emergency supply," Blaise answered, "To be used if we have no access to alternate means."

"Great," Draco deadpanned, dropped his head against the window and stared vacantly towards the scenery passing them by. "Where are we going?"

"Higher ground," Beth explained, "We all know that the cities aren't safe, and travelling isn't really the zombies' strong suit anyway."

"And if Atlanta is like any of the other major cities, it will be overrun," Blaise contributed.

Draco fell silent, Blaise turned off onto a mountain pass, the disc changed to Joshua Radin's velvet tenor, and Beth fingered her pistol once again. She'd never used a gun in her life, had never been _near_ one, but in a situation where close quarter, hand to hand or knife combat was out of the question, it was a justifiable solution.

Especially since the zombies were immune to magic, and outnumbered what was left of the human race a hundred to one - if not more.

And wasn't _that_ an alarming prospect?

"There's a camp," Draco observed and Beth pulled herself from her reverie, curious.

"Should we join them?" Beth queried.

Blaise stopped the SUV a mile from the afore mentioned camp, turned to face the five of them, and gestured for Draco to wake Daphne, Theo and Tracey. He did so without remorse, the trio groaned their protest, but sat up all the same, prepared for anything.

"Alright, so you can all see the camp. There's a lot of people there, and we know squat all about them. There's strength in numbers though, and reasonable justifications about why we should and shouldn't join them. Will we vote on it?"

"We vote," Tracey conceded, "What are the pros and cons though?"

The six teenagers, fresh out of Hogwarts, a war, and Britain, spent a great deal of time arguing the pros and cons of either option, voted, and eventually settled on the decision to join the camp, provided they were actually welcome. Daphne and Theo, the best at diplomacy, would do all the talking, Draco would keep watch, Blaise would stay in the car in case they had to make a quick getaway, while Tracey and Beth would sit in the car, and look pretty, ready to provide cover for Daphne and Theo in case things went pear shaped.

"Do you think this is a good idea?" Beth asked Blaise. Her fingers drummed against the length of her wand, ready to start firing at the mundanes at a moment's notice. It wasn't as though the Statute of Secrecy mattered these days, after all.

"Bit late to change our minds," Blaise answered, eyes on Daphne and Theo, who approached the camp without any visible weapons, hands raised and what have you. "Besides, do we really want to continue the way we've been going?"

"No," Beth conceded with a weary sigh, "I just want to go home."

Blaise reached over, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tugged her towards him, where he pressed a kiss to her temple, breathed in the scent of her hair - strawberries - and whispered a promise to get her home, no matter the cost.

"Ti amo, mia bella. We'll get through this mess, Beth. We always do."

Beth smiled, turned her head and kissed him sweetly. "I love you too, Blaise. _Per sempre_. No matter what."

Their moment didn't last though, because Theo slapped a palm against the passenger side window to grab their attention. Blaise gave him the finger as Beth wound down the window - electric control was the best thing since automatic gears - and the couple waited, expectant, for Theo to update them.

"We're welcome to join them, so long as we contribute to chores and whatever," Theo explained.

Beside him, Daphne nodded her agreement, a tiny, relieved smile on her beautiful face. After all, Blaise had been right when he'd said that there was strength in numbers, regardless of the drawbacks the concept of another group offered.

"Great," Draco deadpanned. "Just what I always wanted."

"Calm your tits, Princess," Theo jeered, "We'll be sure to show you the ropes."

"Fuck you, wanker."

"You'd love that, wouldn't you, Malfoy?"

With amused grins brought on by the byplay, Blaise, Tracey and Beth clambered out of the car and stretched their legs. Draco, already on the roof, unlatched the chords securing their luggage in place, and began to throw down camping supplies and duffel bags. The rest of their possessions - four of their trunks, and the two canisters of fuel - remained safely in or on the SUV, and so without further adieu, they approached the camp, ready to settle for as long as they were able. Perpetual travel was tiresome, after all, and they were each eager for a break. After a week of nonstop driving, with breaks only for the bathroom, petrol stops, sleep and zombie killing, it was the least they could ask for.


	2. Stars in the Dark II: HP Walking Dead

**Stars in the Dark **

**Disclaimer:** I own neither 'Harry Potter' or 'The Walking Dead'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Two: Shoot Out The Lights **

_We've been watching for a miracle _

_We're praying for a sign _

_When the cure is made of poison _

_Than its hard to rest your eyes _

_**Shoot Out The Lights - Ron Pope **_

"Why are we still fighting, when we know we're already dead?"

Beth looked up from their small campfire, and Daphne met her gaze through the flames. Tracey turned her head in Theo's lap, her dark eyes indiscernible in the nighttime. The boys were silent, and the six of them were far enough from the other campers to be undisturbed.

In all actuality, they'd been offered to join the others' campfire, but Daphne and Draco were abysmal with new people, and mundane strangers in particular, and the others weren't really interested with subjecting strangers to their friends' special brand of high class awkward. Theo himself was from a family of merchants, Tracey was a social butterfly on the best of days, and Beth and Blaise were - well - _them_, but they'd each come to terms with the fact that Daphne and Draco were socially lost causes, and generally avoided scenarios in which people had to encounter _that_ discomfort. Therefore, the offer had been graciously denied, and that was that.

Maybe they should have joined the others, because this conversation was not one she was ready for.

Then again, she doubted she ever would be.

Blaise twirled a lock of her hair through his fingers, and Beth leant into his side. He was her pillar in the apocalyptic hell their lives had become, and as Daphne looked at Beth, hopeless, and desolate, and expectant, the sable haired Slytherin thought she'd never needed him more.

"Because hope is not lost, and to fight is all we've got."

Except Beth's hope was waning, and she doubted it would last. They needed a miracle that hadn't come, the end of days was nye, and she wondered if indeed, hope was enough. She wondered if a cure was pending, if there was still a reason to hope for all of their sakes, but mostly for hers.

These days, it didn't seem like it.

"Let's go to bed," Blaise murmured in her ear, and Beth agreed with a nod. The others began to call it as well, so the fire was abandoned but for Theo, who'd volunteered for first watch, the campsite packed up and goodnights spoken.

Inside their tent, Blaise zipped the flap shut, Beth raised a privacy spell and Blaise was suddenly there, his lips ardent against her own. She divested him of his button down shirt, unbuckled his belt and cursed out his button fly, eager and desperate and so very wanting. He was hot and hard against her and she fisted him in a firm, steady grip, as his fingers pinched her through the fabric of her shirt and bra, as his mouth did wondrous things to her neck, his chest heaving, hips rolling, chanting so low it was indiscernible.

"Fuck," he cursed, withdrew his wand from it's holster and cut away her shirt and bra, heedless of where they fell. His hands palmed her breasts, his mouth once more occupied with her own, and Beth tugged off her jeans, hot, and needy, and eager for the release that only Blaise had ever offered her.

"I need you," she chanted, over and over again, as he lavished attention on her breasts and neck and everywhere else he could reach, except the place where she burned for him most. Her chest heaved and she ached, uncomfortably aware of the fact that it had been nearly two weeks since she'd had him last, "Please. Blaise."

With another muttered oath, he lowered them both to one of their sleeping bags, settled his weight on one arm, and used the other to circle her swollen clit with a caramel, callused thumb. She arched into his hand, inhaled sharply and keened against his questing mouth. Her hips thrust into his unyielding fingers and Beth clutched at Blaise's shoulder, climbing, climbing, climbing, and then she was there and falling, falling, falling.

In another moment, Blaise was deep inside her, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear, the Italian almost too fast for her to decipher. They met each other thrust for thrust and Beth was climbing again, her nails clawing at his back, her speech garbled nonsense she couldn't make sense of, and then they peaked together, one eternally blissful moment, where it was he and she and nothing else but an indescribable, glorious oblivion.

Afterwards, they lay together, spent and sated, cleaned by way of a 'scurgify' and content simply to cuddle in the privacy of their tent. Sleep was far away this night, held at bay by dreary thoughts and fading hope.

"Do you think Daphne is right?" Beth queried. "Do you think we should just… end it?"

"I made a promise to you," Blaise answered, "I said peace, and children, and all that we never had. I _will_ see that promise through."

"Is this a world we really want to live in, though? Maybe we should, while we still have the choice…"

Blaise reached over and kissed her, low and tender. "Do not doubt yourself, Elizabeth. We'll get through this, just like everything before it. We'll fight, we'll come out on the other side, and that is it. No more thoughts of… _that_."

They both thought of Flora and Hestia Carrow, who'd made a pact to quit before they were bound in servitude to Lord Voldemort, as their revolting parents had been.

it had been Daphne to find them, forearms slit wrist to elbow, side by side in a pool of their combined blood, fingers linked together in death as they had always been in life.

They had been a beautiful tragedy.

She had wondered, morbidly, why they'd not used the killing curse and she had wondered, drearily, if she should do the same.

They had been sixteen, Beth had been a year younger, and in the wake of her godfather's demise, Voldemort's public return and the revelation of that _godforsaken prophecy, _ life had never seemed more fragile.

Until now.

"I love you," Blaise murmured tenderly. He carted his fingers through her hair, kissed her crown, and repeated, "I love you. More than anything."

Beth reached up and pressed her lips to his in a not quite kiss, in a touch of lips that lingered, but became nothing else. When she pulled away, she answered, "As I love you. Always."

And in the solitude of their tent, in the quiet of the night, as Blaise drifted to sleep beside her, and Theo guarded their dreams, she wondered to herself if hope, and love, and whispered promises, were enough to get them through this life. She could do nothing else. But then she, too, fell into the realm of dreams and for a time, all was well.

**Author's Note:** If you're interested in adoption, go nuts. just let me know. Hope you've enjoyed. -t.


	3. A New Frontier I: HP LOTR

**A new Frontier **

**Disclaimer:** I own neither Harry Potter nor Lord of the Rings. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** When all is lost, four comrades seek sanctuary beyond the veil. They were in search for peace, but that was the last thing they got. Draco/Gabrielle. harry/Daphne. AU.

**Rating:** M for language, violence, mild adult themes and character death.

**Author:** tlyxor1.

**A new Frontier **

**Chapter One **

_July, TA 3016_

Consciousness came in one single burst of awareness, a habit born of too much time in the wild, too much paranoia, a decade of war and what have you. The sun was a fiery speck on the horizon, the horses were still fast asleep but Hedwig, an ever faithful companion, hooted lowly in greeting, floated down to perch on his shoulder and nibbled at the strands of his sable hair. She'd maintained her watch throughout the night and as it appeared, nothing of consequent had occurred during the quartet's slumbering hours.

Harry Potter detangled himself from his bonded, set to the task of rekindling their campfire and thought over the events that had led he and his companions to this brand new world. It hadn't been an easy decision to make, but when their last Order of the Phoenix stronghold had been raided and they had become the last four survivors of the resistance, it had appeared their only remaining option. It had been a last resort before then, an escape for the Order of the Phoenix if all went wrong, but with hope still lingering, it had never been seriously considered. No one had thought that it would ever really be needed. All of that had changed, however, and with nothing left to lose, the four began their preparations.

A week later, they'd entered the fabled veil of death without looking back, packs full of all that they'd need and could take with them, a small menagerie of animals and braced for most anything they were bound to come across. There weren't many reports of this world - _Arda_ - but what they _did_ know was that it was a dangerous place, not least due to the Dark Lord who'd fallen some two thousand years earlier.

Brought from his reverie as Draco stirred, Harry glanced up from the apple he'd been methodically slicing, nodded at his friend and slowly began to eat his meagre breakfast. Draco took a moment to check over Gabrielle's slumbering form, nodded to himself and deposited a filled kettle on the fire. He was rather disgruntled about their inability to use magic, but until they were all comfortable with the lay of the land, magic wasn't something they'd at all be comfortable with using. Harry, who'd grown up without, took it rather easily, but his companions weren't so adaptable. Harry himself found it rather comical, but Godric forbid he ever admit that.

"Any problems last night?" Draco queried. He'd gotten his hands on a pear and his hands were fluid as they sliced the fruit into quarters and then eighths, but his pale gaze was on Harry, expectant. Gone was the scorn and contempt from their early school days, but they were both far from the boys of their childhood. Many had thought it a frankly bizarre friendship, but neither had really cared much for others' opinions by that point. Harry was just grateful that the former Slytherin had made this journey with him.

"None," Harry answered, "Hedwig's gone to scout around. We need to make up a plan soon. We can't just wander forever."

Draco nodded his agreement and his gaze flicked to Gabrielle, still fast asleep, slender hand curled protectively over her distended belly. She was due in only a matter of weeks and harry was sure that they'd all prefer to be settled before that day came. They'd been travelling for days, however, and still no settlement had been forthcoming. Their hope - and patience - was wearing thin.

"The reports said that there were elven settlements here," Draco mused. "At the very least, you and Daphne would be welcome."

Reflexively, Harry reached a hand upwards and brushed over the tapered point of his ear. Even after floes to a decade, the reality that he was an elf still surprised him. it had come about as a magical creature inheritance on his sixteenth birthday, presumably from one of his ancestors, but with the knowledge that he'd not been the only one of his cohort to become something _other_ than human, he'd not complained.

Particularly when it had brought him Daphne.

"Too bad we don't know where they are," Harry answered dully. Draco chuckled, poured himself a cup of tea and for a time, they sat in companionable silence. It was broken by the approach of a weary eyed Daphne, her white gold hair uncharacteristically mussed and her blue violet eyes on the trees surrounding them.

"You know," she mused, "I never thought I'd grow tired of the sight of trees, but lo and behold, I'm getting really bloody bored."

"What kind of elf are _you_, Greengrass?" Draco mock jeered. "Tired of the sight of _trees_, heaven forbid."

"I'll show you what kind of elf I am, Malfoy," she retorted, mockingly brandishing one of her daggers. They both laughed, she returned her blade to it's sheath at her belt and settled beside Harry with a smile for her husband. He returned it in kind, pressed a kiss to her cheek and offered her an apple that the elleth gratefully accepted.

"Should probably head out soon," Daphne mused, gaze on the lightening sky. "Don't want to stay in one place too long."

"Convenu," Gabrielle opined, slowly sitting up from her bedroll. She rubbed at her lower back with a grimace on her face, accepted Draco's offered hand to help her up and frankly _waddled_ her way towards the small fire. Draco helped her down, Harry offered the blonde an orange and she ate it happily, eyes on the crackling flames. "What is the time?"

Before any of them could answer, Hedwig swooped in with a screech, Harry relayed her message and the companions - sans Gabrielle - whirled into a flurry of action. Packs were filled and tied to the horses, Gabrielle was lifted side saddle onto her mare, Draco and Harry unsheathed their swords and they waited in tense, anticipatory silence.

Harry and Daphne heard them first, far closer than either of them would like. Normally, their elven ears would allow for a far better range than that which had been provided them. They'd never been so disadvantaged before in the way of notice of strangers' approach. The sensation was disconcerting, at the very least. As a reflex, Harry drummed his fingers along the handle of his sword, cast a gaze towards his wife and received an assuring smile for his trouble. All would be well - they'd make certain of it.

A quartet of men entered into the clearing, clad in travelling garb and hoods raised, but weapons sheathed and hands open in what was (apparently) the multi-universal sign of peace. Harry and Daphne scrutinised the strangers beneath their cowls and both sheathed their weapons, considerably relaxed. Draco followed suit only a moment later, not having hesitated to trust their judgement.

"What might we do for you, strangers?" Harry asked, still wary despite not having deemed them a threat. He tilted his head curiously, his hair slipped behind his ears and two of the men pulled back their hoods without adieu. They were elves, Harry could see, and identical twins besides. harry and Daphne eyed them curiously, not having seen elves besides themselves before.

"We've been following your tracks," came the gravelly tone of one of the unknown strangers, "We ask what brings you so far north. Do you travel to Imladris?"

"We're lost," Harry said plainly, "We'd settle for _any_ settlement, by this point." he gestured to his pregnant companion. "Gabrielle can't travel like this much longer."

The elven twins and their two companions agreed whole heartedly, introductions were made and before Harry really realised it, they'd suddenly acquired a quartet of guides to lead the way to Imladris, an elven valley in which they'd be welcomed with care, or so Elladan, Elrohir, Strider and Piper insisted. None of them protested the choice, however, weary of travelling as they were. And so their road continued, but as they walked, they each took comfort in the knowledge that their journey would soon meet it's end. They could soon lay down, rest their heads and for a time, not worry of the danger that had once followed them everywhere they went. It was a moment they each anticipated like they had anticipated no other and Harry smiled to himself, glad that he'd soon know the peace he'd desired for so long.

**Translations:**

Convenu: _French_, meaning 'Agreed'.


	4. A New Frontier II: HP LOTR

**A New Frontier **

**Disclaimer:** I own neither Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Two **

_August, TA, 3016 _

It was nearly midnight when Harry and Daphne were unceremoniously woken with news that Gabrielle had finally gone into labour. For a moment, they'd both shared a silent sigh of relief - this day had been a bloody long time coming. Then, without adieu, they'd clad themselves quickly in dressing gowns and slippers and darted out the door, headed for their friends' quarters deeper within the place they now called home. No doubt, Draco and Gabrielle would both need them before the night was through and despite their turbulent past, both Daphne and Harry intended to be there for them.

The valley of Imladris, and the last homely house east of the sea, was a truly breathtaking sight and in truth, Harry didn't think he'd ever get over it's grandeur. They'd been welcomed with open arms by Lord Elrond, his family and his subjects and at once, they'd found the peace none of them had known for years. Rivendell was a safe haven from the rest of the world and regardless of the goings on beyond it's borders, Harry could sleep easily knowing that for the time being, he was safe. As he and Daphne rounded the doorway into Draco and Gabrielle's living quarters, however, Imladris was the last thing on Harry's mind.

In Draco and Gabrielle's small sitting room, the Malfoy scion paced an agitated circle around the furniture, his hair a platinum disarray and attention singularly focused on the closed door to the master bedroom. Beyond it, Harry could hear the sound of Gabrielle's laboured breaths and the soothing tones of two elven midwives. More surprising, however, was the presence of Lord Elrond, his twin sons and one daughter, seated calmly on the neglected furniture as Draco paced holes around them.

Draco had gotten to know Lord Elrond during his work in the infirmary. He had begun to help out there whenever necessary and in the process, had begun to learn new forms of healing from the wizened scholar. In turn, Lord Elrond was ceaselessly curious about the ways of healing from Tera that Draco taught him in return. Harry, however, had not realised that their friendship would equate to the elder's presence at the birth of Draco's first child. Whatever the case, it wasn't his business and so he bothered not to question it. After all, the more moral support, likely the better.

Daphne slipped into the bedroom, locked the door behind her and Harry heard her greet Gabrielle with a kiss to Gaby's crown and a series of mumbled words in French that Harry didn't bother deciphering. Instead, he approached his friend, clapped the blonde on the shoulder and gave him a smile.

"Are you ready for this, mate?"

Draco carted a hand through already tousled hair and gave a tremulous exhale. he managed a wan smile, but Harry saw right through him. Draco hadn't looked this anxious since he and Gabrielle's bonding ceremony three years earlier.

"I'm so nervous, I might be sick."

Harry chuckled, squeezed Draco's shoulder and guided him towards the sole remaining armchair still available. He couldn't do much else but be there for his friend though, and so harry took up place beside the mantle and began to wait out what would end up being a twelve hour vigil. Lord Elrond and his children were in and out of the quarters and they brought offerings of the edible variety every time they visited, but for the most part, they were silent, anticipating Imladris' newest arrival.

At one point, Elrohir broke the silence with a question. "Have you chosen any names yet?"

Draco nodded his confirmation from the armchair he'd not moved from, gaze still fixed on the bedroom door. He'd at least eaten and had some tea, but Harry sardonically wondered if he was trying to make himself appear as wrecked as Gabrielle surely would be once their child was born. He was certainly on the way to succeeding.

Before anything else could be said, one of the midwives opened up the door and informed them all that it was time. She shut it directly afterwards and Draco jumped to his feet, only to begin pacing once more. Harry dropped into Draco's vacated chair, cast his gaze over the sunlit courtyard below and grimaced at the sounds emitted from the bedroom. Childbirth resulted in something beautiful, but by Godric did it sound awful.

Twenty agonising minutes later, the wail of a newborn baby wrenched the air and smiles lit up everyone's faces, none more so than Draco's. He waited anxiously, but it was only moments later when the midwife appeared with Draco's son in her arms, swaddled in a baby blue blanket tailored for that very purpose.

Draco took the newborn into his arms with a small, reverent smile on his face and mumbled to the boy, though all the elves in the room heard it. Harry, however, was the only one to understand the words said.

"Bienvenue dans le monde, Espoir Phénix Malfoy."

"An apt name, my friend," harry complimented. He approached on silent steps, glanced down at the sleeping infant and huffed a silent laugh to himself.

There was something inordinately precious about the baby, but Harry couldn't deny that the boy, that _Espoir_, looked like a pink, shrivelled potato. He chose not to announce that observation, however, lest the elder Malfoy feel it necessary to punch him in the face in an overprotective, paternal response.

"Welcome to the world indeed, Espoir Phénix Malfoy," Harry murmured, a finger pressed tenderly to the little one's hand, "May your days forever be green and golden."

**Translations**

Bienvenue dans le monde: _French_ for 'Welcome to the world'.

Espoir Phénix: _French_ meaning 'Hope Phoenix'.


	5. The Sweetest Sin I: HP PJO

**The Sweetest Sin**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter' or 'Percy Jackson'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** A daughter of Aphrodite, a son of Apollo, and a world of possibilities. Gwen Potter has enemies though, and Michael Yew's not exactly threat free either, but all's fair in love and war, and sometimes, the risk is the best part. "Is that a harmonica in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?" AU. Fem!Harry. Gwen/Michael

**Rating:** M for language, violence, mild adult themes, character death, and teenaged debauchery.

**Author:** tlyxor1.

**Prologue **

Despite herself, and all the children she'd birthed in the past, it never got easier. And this one, this perfect, flawless angel, would be beautiful, and wondrous, and it broke her heart.

Such a gift, with her father's sable hair, and her own flawless complexion, would come with a price, and already, the strings of destiny had been tethered around the babe's tiny heart. Her life would be hard, perhaps more so than Aphrodite herself could predict, but the laws were laws, and to defy Zeus, her King, would see the babe dead.

She wouldn't let that happen.

Not when this girl, with her plump, rosy lips, and thick, sable lashes, was perhaps her favourite daughter of them all.

And so she settled the infant in a woven basket, with a hand stitched blanket wrapped around her, and walked away. Behind her, as James Potter woke, Guinevere Potter slept on.

And Aphrodite wept.

**Chapter One**

The hound was enormous, far larger than Fluffy, with eyes that burned like an inferno, and sharp, proportionately massive fangs. It blocked her path to the street, she was exhausted, and so she found herself at a stalemate, or perhaps a crossroad, with one question to answer: should she fight, or flee?

Raised and trained by heroes, and inspired by them too, Gwen Potter had never run from trouble.

This time would be no exception.

With an indrawn breath, Gwen palmed the handles of her daggers, braced her weight, and watched, gaze narrowed, as the hound shifted it's own mass, ready, and waiting.

For a brief, fleeting moment, she wished for a celestial bronze equivalent of throwing knives, but then the hound lunged at her, and Gwen didn't much have the time for idle thoughts. She threw her focus into the fight instead, her muscles burned, her heart thundered, and yet, she came out of the brief skirmish as the victor, with a hellhound fang for spoils, a slash to her forearm for her trouble, and an exhaustion she could feel in her bones.

"Are you alright, Mr Tumnas?" She asked, and her satyr companion appeared from beneath Gwen's invisibility cloak, a disgruntled frown on his face.

"You need to stop calling me that."

"It's a term of endearment," she answered flippantly, "Let's go."

They stepped out onto the street, headed for the underground, and boarded the first train to Manhattan. She'd never been to New York in her life, but she'd lived in London long enough, and the foreign sites, though interesting in that tourist sort of way, didn't hold her attention the same way it would for anyone else.

She was not here to site see, after all.

"I killed someone when I was eleven," she admitted, and her keeper, whose name was actually Morris, tilted his head, curious, but not accusatory. "He was possessed by Voldemort, and he was trying to kill me."

"That was self-defence," Morris answered, "It's not your fault - just like the hellhound."

Gwen huffed a hollow laugh, turned her gaze to the window, and wished she could believe him. That knowledge, however, had gnawed at her for years, and it wasn't going to go away so easily. So many others had said the same thing - her family, her friends, the faculty - and yet, the memory of Quirrel's skin bubbling beneath her hands, the echo of his tortured screams, the acrid stench of burning flesh, lingered in her subconscious, and she was certain it would never fade.

At New York's City central station, the pair transferred onto the Long Island Rail, Gwen withdrew a rubix cube from her bag, and occupied herself with the puzzle until they reached their stop.

It had been a gift from Remus, who always got Gwen little gifts that challenged her, and it was probably the only thing that had kept her sane since she'd left London.

That had been three days ago, and they'd been travelling ever since - plane, then foot, and most recently, train - and the witch, and recently discovered demigod, thought she'd never missed London more in her life.

She'd not even been so homesick her first week at Hogwarts.

"Are you excited about camp?" Morris queried.

Gwen twisted her lips, furrowed her brow, and considered the question. She'd been trained since she was young in Tae Kwon Do, Karate and Judo, and when she was twelve, she'd taken up lessons to learn how to properly use her blades.

In essence, she didn't feel she needed to learn an entirely new fighting style, but another part of her, young and optimistic, was excited to meet others like her - demigods - and she couldn't deny herself if she tried.

"I'm excited to get away from the monsters," she answered, "And to sleep in a real bed."

"I'm afraid the camp's bunk beds will be a far cry from the opulence you're familiar with," Morris said.

Gwen arched an unimpressed eyebrow, and her expression was deadpan. "Do you think I give a damn about that?"

Unconventional in her attire, she'd opted for a pair of purple skinny leg jeans, the biker boots her godfather had gifted her, and a pale grey 'Rolling Stones' band tee. Her hair was long though, pulled into a solitary French braid down her back, and in essence, she looked nothing like the pureblood heiress she was supposed to be.

"Touche," Morris conceded, "But in my defence, you looked like a princess when you opened the door."

Gwen scoffed and shoved her new friend, but a blush stained her cheeks, and a smile pulled at her lips. "You're just an A-class silver tongue, aren't you, Mr Tumnas?"

He sketched a mock bow, his hat wavered on his head, and he replied, "That's me, smooth talker extraordinaire."

The rest of their train ride was spent in idle conversation, and the pair exited the train in Long Island, with yet another leg of their journey ahead of them. She grimaced at the thought, felt for the bronze rings on her index fingers, and walked beside Morris as he led the way through the station, headed for the exit.

"Brace yourself," Morris warned her, headed to the taxi bay, "The last leg is the worst."

"That's comforting," she deadpanned, followed him into the backseat, and turned her attention to the scenery passing them by. "You just made my day, mate. Seriously."

Sloping hills, blue skies, and the occasional glimpse of the bay, the pair rode in the company of a cantankerous foreigner and the sound of Avril Lavigne through the speakers, but Morris stopped them beside a strawberry field, with a hill far out in the distance, and surrounded by forestry.

She wondered briefly if they were going to start snitching strawberries, but before she could raise the question, Morris guided her towards the trees, and she swore violently.

"Are you fucking joking?"

"I'm afraid not," Morris answered, "Come on, I smell monsters."

"That's bloody nice, isn't it?" She groused, but followed the satyr all the same, braced for anything.

"I don't think you understand," Morris was saying, "Your scent is _crazy_ powerful - like one of the big three - and it's kind of unbelievable to think that you're actually a daughter of Aphrodite, traits notwithstanding. Never mind that though, you're like a siren call to anything - men, women, monsters - and not just because you smell good."

Uninterested in the conversation, she tuned his tangent out, and instead focused on their surroundings, on the silence of the trees, of the tension in the air, and she inhaled deeply, certain that she was currently being hunted. She didn't know _what_ was stalking her, but the sensation of _prey, meet predator_ was not a pleasant one.

Morris, who'd fallen silent, met Gwen's hazel eyes, with his own brown gaze, wide and fearful. "There's so many."

She shivered.

"You have to run," Morris implored, "I'll hold them off."

He withdrew his panflute, but he trembled violently, and Gwen set her expression, determined. She was scared though - terrified, even - but she would never leave a friend behind.

"I won't leave you."

"Please," he entreated, "I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt again. You just need to top the hill. Past the pine up there, and you'll be safe."

Gwen looked around her, and licked her lips, her mouth dry. They were almost fully circled by all manner of monsters, and the only way she could make it to Camp Halfblood alive was if an intervention was had.

And yet, Morris was her friend.

Conflicted and frightened, she met Morris' gaze again, and his smile, though tremulous, was genuine. He put her cloak in her hands, folded her fingers over the material, and squeezed them briefly. "I'll meet you on the other side."

Gwen nodded, and ran.

As the haunting melody of Morris' panflute whispered through the trees, she didn't look back.


	6. The Sweetest Sin II: HP PJO

**The Sweetest Sin**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter' or 'Percy Jackson. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Two:**

To Gwen, the concept of sacrifice was not something new. Her grandfather, Charlus, had laid down his life for her, her father, James, had quit the Auror Corps to raise her, and Gwen herself had sacrificed the prospect of a (relatively) normal life to be a hero, to fight the good fight, and what have you.

That said, she'd thought the days of other people sacrificing themselves for her were over, and a part of her silently raged at the injustice of it all.

She'd not even known Morris for a week.

With a grimace, and her breaths heavy, Gwen settled herself at the base of the Camp Halfblood pine tree, her bag strapped to her back, and her daggers gripped in an unrelenting hold. They'd been lifelines in these last few days, and she'd not let them out of her sight anytime soon.

She waited for what seemed an age, but blessedly, Morris appeared through the undergrowth, munching an apple, cool as a cucumber, and as though he'd _not_ just willingly kept himself within a ring of up to thirteen monsters - just to keep her safe.

Gwen wasn't sure how she'd ever be able to repay him that debt, but as he approached her, and Gwen smiled, she thought she could start by keeping him as a friend for life. He'd gone above and beyond the call of duty - for her - and besides that, he was a pretty cool companion, with a thing for classic rock, and saving the planet.

"You didn't have to wait for me," Morris said, "But no matter. Are you ready to enter Camp Halfblood?"

"You bet," Gwen replied, "There's a hot shower calling my name."

Morris smiled, and led her down the other side of the hill.

Gwen herself took in the site of Camp Halfblood as she descended, and the view took her breath away. It was almost ageless in the noonday sun, Grecian architecture like she'd never seen before, and a sight to behold besides.

"We're going to see Chiron and Mr D," Morris explained, and he guided her towards a big blue house, three storeys high, with a wrap around balcony, and two men on the porch. "They've been waiting for you."

Gwen grimaced, subconsciously reached for her braid, and was summarily swatted for the effort. it wasn't the first time - evidently, Morris took offence to the concept of tidiness - but this time, she conceded, and begrudgingly followed her new friend up the porch steps, and towards the two men quickly introduced as Chiron, activities director, and Mr D, camp coordinator.

"This is Gwen Potter," Morris informed them, "Safe and sound."

Gwen strained a smile, and Chiron welcomed her kindly. Mr D only grunted, and asked if she played Pinochle. She didn't - more familiar with the different poker games Sirius had inevitably taught her, but she was willing to learn, and that seemed to please the coordinator, who seemed to eminate a power far stronger, and far older, than magic.

"Did you encounter any monsters?"

"Five before we left London," she answered laconically, "Five more before we reached Manhattan. Morris held off thirteen just beyond the camp's borders. It's as though they were actively hunting me."

"I would not be surprised," Chiron answered, "You carry the strength of Lady Athena and Lady Hecate in your veins. And that is, of course, disregarding your mother."

Her father, James, a son of Athena. Her grandfather, in turn, a son of Hecate. She'd known for as long as her own divine parentage, and yet, she could barely wrap her head around the concept.

Perhaps, with time…

"You will be very powerful," Chiron observed, "And your scent indicates that. No doubt, the Olympians will expect great things from you. After all, not everyone is marked by the fates."

Gwen remembered another conversation with another old man, and shivered minutely.

Great things, indeed.

"Morris, perhaps you can show Guinevere around the campgrounds? I'm sure she's curious. Cabin 10 is ready for you, Gwen, when you wish to settle in."

Morris acquiesced, and Gwen followed him off the porch. Her shoulders eased the longer they walked, and Gwen took in the sites with curious eyes. Morris babbled ceaselessly beside her, pointing out landmarks, and what have you, apparently oblivious to the scrutiny they were both under.

Gwen eyed the campers, blonde and brunette, redheads and ravenettes, pale, olive toned, and darker, blue eyes, green eyes, brown and grey and purple. She smiled at those who smiled at her, and watched the others who watched her in turn, and wondered idly what they thought of her.

"You're not what they expected," Morris told her, and Gwen reminded herself of the empathy link they shared, "They didn't think you'd be so different from your sisters."

Gwen glanced down at her feet, caught sight of the wound she'd received at the teeth of the hellhound, and mused over how much it had healed. A gift from the phoenix tears still in her bloodstream, but always a marvel to look at.

"A princess," she deadpanned, and Morris rolled his eyes.

"You'll never let me live that down, will you?"

"Not a chance, Mr Tumnas."

She'd opened the front door of her father's Mayfair townhouse, had stared at the satyr there, and had called for her father. The satyr, still a stranger then, had mumbled something about Gwen and 'pretty as a princess', Gwen had chuckled, and shortly thereafter, she'd learned the truth of her parentage.

A part of Gwen still couldn't believe it, and yet, the truth was all around her, and her father had never lied about her mother before. Gwen had known that her mother was alive, but had not been able to keep her, and she had not asked anymore questions.

As a camper approached, clad in a Camp Halfblood tank top, and a camouflage jacket over it, Gwen pulled herself from her thoughts, crossed her arms over her chest, and warily eyed the stockier girl.

"Clarisse," Morris greeted, "Is this really necessary?"

"Is what really needed?" Gwen enquired, but judging by Morris expression, it couldn't be anything good.

"We have a tradition for new campers," Clarisse answered, "A rite of passage, if you will. And _you_, my dear, are a new camper."

Uninterested in finding out what _that_ was about, Gwen infused her magic into her voice, met CLarisse's gaze, and took advantage of what her father had once explained was called her 'charm speak'.

"Thanks, but no thanks."

Gwen took hold of Morris' arm, marched past the campers, and made her way to the clearly labelled cabin 10. It was a hideously bright shade of pink, but the door was open, and something sweet wafted out from within. She looked at Morris, strangely anxious, and he gave her an encouraging grin.

"They're waiting for you, Gwen. Go on, you won't regret it."

Gwen nodded slowly, smiled at her friend, and made to step onto the porch. Before she stepped inside, however, she turned, and addressed him. "And Morris?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks - for everything."

Morris grinned. "What are friends for?"


	7. The Games We Play I: HP Avengers

**The Games We Play**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter' or 'Avengers'. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** A witch walks into a bar, and right into Clint Barton's life. A passionate encounter follows, and after that, 40 weeks of unmitigated hell. AU. Clint/Gwen. Fem!Harry.

**Rating:** M for language, adult themes, and violence.

**Author:** tlyxor1.

**The Games We Play **

**Chapter One**

It had taken several days of string pulling, but she had eventually tracked him down at Stark Tower, a monolithic, overcompensation of glass and steel, and she exhaled an exasperated sigh.

Gwen didn't want to be here, in all actuality. She'd been entirely content in her own quiet, Long Island cabin along the coast, but Hermione was a persistent nag, and so the retired hero had called in a variety of favours, tracked down her most recent lover, and found her way to Stark Tower.

Impatient and anxious, Gwen paced the empty foyer, carted her hands through her short hair, and thought over what she'd ought to say. She didn't have long, however, before Clint Barton made his appearance, and Gwen crossed her arms over her NYU pullover, defensive and protective, and plainly terrified.

"Hey," Barton eyed her, wary, "How did you find me?"

"Called in some favours," she explained succinctly, "Is there anywhere we can talk?"

He nodded slowly, gestured to the lifts, and Gwen stepped in, Barton directly behind her. She'd pulled her sleeves over her hands, and in her yoga pants and ugg boots, she probably didn't appear much of a threat, but she rocked back and forth on her heels, and her dinner threatened to make a reappearance. In the mirror, she looked faintly green.

"You alright?" Barton queried.

"I've had better days."

Gwen faked a smile, tugged at the ends of her cropped hair, and followed Barton off the lift, into a brightly lit, spartan living room. A hallway veered away to the left, and the faint glow of a kitchen light could be seen from an open archway, and despite herself, the blatant display of wealth was disconcerting.

It was perhaps ironic, given that she was one of the richest witches in Britain, if not the western world, but she'd never been particularly comfortable with that truth, and nor had she ever felt inclined to flaunt it.

"Do you remember me?" She queried.

"You'd be difficult to forget," he answered dryly.

Gwen flushed red, entirely aware of what he'd just referenced. She didn't know too many women as flexible as she, and that wasn't taking into consideration how many times they'd each orgasmed that night.

That night had been unforgettable, in more ways than one.

"You've cut your hair," he observed.

He'd been fascinated by her silken curls, she recalled. They'd been a pain in the arse to deal with though, and Gwen had hacked the bum length curls off at the shoulder two weeks ago. She'd not had such short hair since she was a girl on Privet Drive, but it hadn't taken long for the new look to grow on her.

"I needed a change," she said simply, and the ensuing silence was awkward. She broke it. "I'm pregnant."

Barton didn't look surprised, but then, Gwen couldn't imagine that there would be many reasons for a one night stand to track a bloke down. Instead, he nodded silently, gestured for Gwen to take a seat on the available furniture, and excused himself to retrieve some drinks. He returned a few minutes later, that same neutral expression on his face, and two glasses of water in hand.

"I don't mean to insult you, but are you certain it's mine?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "You were the first in a while, and the last since."

He settled back in his seat, stared at his ceiling, and the lines on his face were creased. He was only 30, so said her favours, but he looked older then, a frown on his face, a furrow between his eyebrows, blue eyes squinted. it didn't deter from his attractiveness though, but rather, seemed to define it, in ways that Gwen couldn't describe.

She'd always been attracted to older men.

"What do you intend to do?" Barton queried.

Gwen was silent for a time, her thoughts on the selfish decision she'd already made. It was almost cruel of her to bring a life into a world where both their parents had a list of enemies longer than their respective forearms, but a family was what she'd wanted more than anything in the world, and she wasn't going to give that up for her own peace of mind.

She said as much, and Barton seemed to eye her in a new light.

"I've never really thought about being a father," he admitted. "But you'll be targeted twofold, if you're enemies are as relentless as mine."

"I'm aware," she admitted, "But I should be safe, at least for the next two months or so. And I won't be defenceless."

He nodded slowly, and seemed to wander off in his own thoughts, and Gwen sipped her water, thoughts on what she had to do next. She'd have to disappear from the magical community's public eye, which meant the anonymity of the mundane world, and really, that change had been a long time coming.

"I guess we should exchange contact information," Barton mused.

Gwen agreed, withdrew her iPhone from the pocket of her pullover, and handed it to the archer. He reciprocated, and Gwen tapped in her details: mobile phone, landline, email,work details, and once she was done, they returned phones, she glanced at the time, and pocketed the device.

"I should probably go," she informed, "It's a fair way to Long Island."

"Long Island," he repeated. "What were you doing in Brooklyn?"

"Graduation party," she explained, "I just got my Bachelor's degrees in Graphic Design and Information Processing."

"Congratulations," he acknowledged, "I'll walk with you to the subway. That is where you're going?""

She nodded, they entered the elevator, and the silence between them was relatively companionable. He saw her safely onto the train, returned to his apartment in Stark Tower, poured himself a scotch, and tried to wrap his head around the strange new reality he'd found himself in.

It was a work in progress, but he thought he could get used to Gwen Potter in his life. At least he hoped so, if only for the sprog's sake.


	8. The Games We Play II: HP Avengers

**The Games We Play**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter' or 'Avengers'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Two**

Gwen swirled her straw around her glass, glanced at the door, and sighed impatiently. Hermione was generally a stickler for punctuality, and there was probably a reason why she was half an hour late for their lunch plans, but Gwen, who was almost obsessive about the same thing, was irritated.

"Can I get you anything to eat, Miss?"

As he asked, the restaurant door swung open, and Hermione hurried in, glanced around the room, and settled herself in the seat across from Gwen. Gwen glared at her, and turned back to their server.

"I'd really appreciate a club sandwich, and one of your chocolate milkshakes," Gwen answered. "My friend will need more time to brows the menu. Thank you."

When the waiter retreated, she turned back to her friend, and Hermione's expression was properly contrite.

"I'm sorry, Gwen, but an emergency came up at work. There's some trouble in Louisiana, and they wanted a consult…"

Gwen huffed, swirled the straw in her orange juice, but didn't pursue the matter. Instead, the pair chatted idly about their respective careers for a time, talked about the old friends they'd seen recently, and made tentative plans for a New Year's soiree before their meals were delivered, and Hermione raised the question Gwen had been waiting for.

"Did you meet him?"

"Yes," Gwen confirmed, "We exchanged contact information, but I thought I ought to let him absorb the news before I took over his life."

"Understandable," Hermione conceded, "How did he take it?"

"He wasn't exactly opposed to it, but he did say that he'd not really considered fatherhood as something in the cards for him. He lives a dangerous life."

"You did too, once upon a time," Hermione reminded her, "And now you hide behind your computers all day long. He could change his life, too."

"I would never ask him to do that," Gwen refused, "You know what it's like, Hermione. Those people - they continue those jobs because they need a purpose - not because of the high rewards. If I did that, I'd be denying a part of him - and a part of me."

Hermione looked unsurprised. "I _knew_ you weren't done with that life." She paused. "So why are you working as a graphic designer, instead of saving the world?"

"Because I don't need to," she answered, "The world has the Avengers now, and the X-Men. I consult sometimes, and I'd have gone into the field if asked, but now? Not a chance."

The remainder of their lunch passed with idle conversation, and they left shortly after one, Hermione headed back to the American Ministry, and Gwen to her cabin in Long Island. Her new client wanted an entirely new website for his bookstore - one that allowed for online sales - and the old man, kindly and learned, and wise enough to listen to his grandchildren's suggestions concerning online retail, would not be disappointed.

In the evening, as she cooked herself a simple dinner of spaghetti bolognese, and sang along to Joan Jett on the stereo, Gwen's doorbell sounded, and the witch tensed, wary. not many knew where she lived, and those who did knew better than to show up unannounced.

With that in mind, Gwen made certain that her wand was within reach, felt for the knife strapped to her calf, and warily trod her way towards the door. She glanced through the window, made out a tall, broad shouldered silhouette, and flicked on the porch light.

The figure was lit up in stark relief, and Gwen relaxed, assured by the sight of Clint Barton on her doorstep. She opened the door carefully, cast her gaze over her yard, and finally glanced at the archer, a puzzled frown on her face.

"Hi?"

"Hey," he greeted, "Are you busy?"

She shook her head, no, and let him inside. She shut the door behind him, led the way into the kitchen, and gestured for him to take a seat at the kitchen island. He scrutinised her home as he did so, and Gwen was comforted by the knowledge that the spy was already aware of the magical world, and her place in it.

She'd have had a lot to explain, otherwise.

"Can I get you a drink?" She queried.

"Water is fine," he answered. "Thank you."

Certain to show him all that she was doing, Gwen poured the man a glass of water from the tap, handed it to him with an awkward smile, and returned to her cooking. It was fortunate she'd grown used to cooking enough for leftovers, because when she was done, she served them each a plate, settled across the island from him, and began to eat before Barton himself did.

"Can I ask what brought you here tonight?" She enquired.

There was no need to ask how he'd found out where she lived. Favours, after all, made up the underbelly of the world.

He twirled some pasta around his fork, mulled over his reply, and met Gwen's eyes with his pale bleu gaze, full of depths that Gwen couldn't fathom, and a maelstrom of emotions she couldn't decipher. She'd spent a total of nine hours in his company, and it wasn't really enough to fully understand a person, but she supposed that in the coming months - and even years - that would change.

"I want to be involved," he began, "But not with just the baby. I want to be part of the pregnancy as well, and I want to know you, too."

"I can understand that," Gwen acknowledged, "And I can agree to it as well - so long as I can get to know you, as well."

"As you wish," he acknowledged, and the pair ate in silence after that, uncertain of where to go from there. He cleaned the dishes though, and Gwen produced a teapot, and they sat on Gwen's couch, mugs in hand, Tracey Chapman filtering from her speakers, and the conversation between them light.

"I'd have to say my favourite book series of all time is 'Lord of the Rings'," she admitted, "Though 'A Song of Ice and Fire' is a close second."

"Legolas was my hero growing up," Clint admitted. "Dude was awesome."

Gwen considered that for a moment. "Is that why you became an archer?"

"It was a contributing factor," he conceded, "Mostly though, I just needed something to do in the circus."

"The circus," she repeated flatly, "You were part of the circus?"

"For six years," he confirmed, "I ran away from the orphanage when I was twelve, joined the circus, and was recruited into S.H.I.E.L.D when I turned eighteen."

"Such an interesting life you've led," she mused, and Barton eyed her, incredulous.

Gwen was not surprised to realise he was aware of her own past, and though the invasion of her privacy was mildly irksome, she was at least comforted with the knowledge that she'd not have to talk about the various skeletons in her closet, and the ghosts she was certain would haunt her for the rest of her days.

"Can I ask you something?" Gwen nodded, and Barton continued, "What's the western world's richest woman doing in Long Island, in an old, isolated cabin, no less?"

Gwen's responding smile was tired, and sad, and tinged with a bitterness Barton knew all too well. "Running away. Hiding. Moving on. Take your pick."

Boldly, Barton leant forward, kissed her chastely, and smiled. He spoke, and Gwen thought she'd ought to start calling him Clint. "You'll always be a hero. I hope you never forget that."


	9. The One That Got Away I: Criminal Minds

**The One That Got Away**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Criminal Minds'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** A night out sees Spencer Reid cross paths with the girl that got away. Life, and romance, ensues. Spencer/OC.

**Rating:** M for references to cases, for language, and for mild adult themes.

**Author:** tlyxor1.

**Chapter One**

_There's a wild, wild whisper blowing in the wind _

_Calling out my name like a long lost friend_

_Oh I miss those days as the years go by _

_Oh, nothing's sweeter than summertime, and American honey…_

_**American Honey - Lady Antebellum **_

He had been twenty, she had been eighteen, and they'd been in love. He'd thought they would last forever, had hoped it would, had imagined their future, but then their paths had diverged, and only the memory of one glorious summer lingered, continued to haunt him nearly six years later, the ghost of her smile, an echo of her laugh, the tone of her voice as a velvet melody wrapped around her favourite lyrics.

Spencer's fingers danced across his guitar frets, he licked his lips, and he began to sing. He wasn't the best singer, and his guitar skills could be better, but in some ways, the act of performance, of the lyrics on his tongue and the familiar strings beneath his fingers, was cathartic in the best way, enough to take him to a better place, where he wasn't haunted by the ghost of those he couldn't save, and the killers he couldn't catch.

As a side effect, however, he was reminded of the one that got away, an angel fallen from grace, with her impish, dimpled smile, and her sable curls. She'd been the one to introduce him to musical therapy, of sorts, had taught him all he knew of the guitar. In turn, he'd taught her French, and during those long, blissful summer nights, they'd spent countless hours between each other's sheets, he'd worshipped every inch of her sun kissed skin, and together, they'd imagined forever.

Sometimes, he wondered where they'd be if he had asked her to stay.

Other times, he wished he could forget.

"_If I could walk on water_

_If I could tell you what's next _

_I'd make you believe _

_I'd make you forget…_"

Brought from his reverie by the sound of a knock at his door, and admittedly pleased to be free of the ghosts in his past, Spencer set down his guitar, got to his feet and approached his entryway. He'd not buzzed anyone up, and only Morgan had a set of keys to his apartment - just in case of emergencies - but as far as Spencer knew, his friend and coworker had never stepped foot in his building, and the younger man was unsure of why he'd have reason to now.

When he looked through the peephole, and found Morgan's familiar form staring back at him, Spencer relaxed mildly, unlocked the door, and opened it with a puzzled frown on his face.

"What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, buddy," Morgan quipped, "Can I come in?"

Spencer looked over his shoulder, sighed, but relented. His place wasn't particularly messy, but he had case files, research papers, music sheets and textbooks spread out across his coffee and dining tables, a basket of unfolded laundry on one of the armchairs, and a box of leftover pizza on his kitchen counter, and he'd never been particularly keen on having guests over without expecting them first.

Once he'd shut and locked the door behind his friend, Spencer eyed the older man, somewhat perplexed, and queried, "Can I get you anything?"

"Do you have any beer?" Morgan, who'd been curiously examining Spencer's living room, cast a glance at Spencer, and he looked weary. "It's been a tough few days."

Spencer grimaced his agreement, and made his way into the kitchen. Morgan followed, and as the younger agent withdrew a can from the six-pack in his fridge, he thought about the case he'd been trying to forget. It had been a bad one, with a body count that had reached double digits, and by the time they'd caught up with their un-sub, he'd killed a thirteenth, they'd all been worn out, and the killer had opted to take the suicidal way out.

"I'm meeting Garcia later on tonight," Morgan informed Spencer, accepting the offered beer, "JJ and Hotch opted to spend time with their kids, Rossi has some other plans, and Prentice said she'd join us too, but did you want to come along?"

Spencer's first instinct was to say no, to encourage his friend to have fun, and not to worry about him, but then he thought about it, thought about his colleagues, haggard, and weary, and he nodded, supposing that he could be designated driver, if nothing else.

"Let me just get dressed…"

They both glanced down at his attire: worn sweats, an old Caltech t-shirt, and his mismatched socks, Spencer scratched at his bristly jaw, and he smiled sheepishly.

"Make yourself comfortable, I suppose."

Morgan nodded his acknowledgement as Spencer retreated into his bedroom, and after a brief shower, Spencer shaved, opted to use his glasses instead of his contacts, and once he'd dressed himself, and gathered all he'd need, he returned to his living area, and found Morgan examining the titles on his shelves.

Contrary to popular belief, he didn't have an apartment made up entirely of textbooks and fifteenth century literature. An entertainment system was set up parallel from a leather sectional sofa, but on either side of the television screen, he'd arranged a set of shelves. One set was made up of books, the other of DVD's, but the greater majority of his collection was in Nevada, in the family home he visited infrequently, and that was where he intended for it to stay.

"An interesting collection, Reid," Morgan observed, "Not what I expected."

"I get that a lot," Spencer acknowledged. He deposited his glock in his shoulder holster,clipped his billfold to his belt, and pocketed his phone, wallet and keys. He donned his glasses, ruffled his hair, and eyed his colleague, expectant. "Are we going?"

"Sure," Morgan acquiesced, and once he'd locked up, Reid led the way out of his front door. He locked it behind him, and with his hands shoved into the pockets of his well worn, leather jacket, he followed Morgan down his building's four flights of stairs, through the foyer, and out into the autumnal evening.

"Where are we going?"

"That jazz bar Garcia likes," Morgan answered, hands shoved into his own pockets. "It's not far from here, right?"

"That's right," Spencer confirmed, "Guess we'll walk then."

They chatted about mindless things on the way there,but they eventually reached their intended location, and once the bouncer let them through, it wasn't hard to find Garcia. Prentice was already with her, and they each had a glass of red wine in front of them, but neither had noticed their colleagues' arrival.

"I'll go grab some drinks."

Morgan nodded and retreated to the table that the girls had procured, and Spencer headed towards the bar. He ordered himself a scotch, and Morgan some whisky, and once paid for, he approached their table, settled in the empty space beside Prentice, and settled back to take in his surroundings.

"Hey, Reid," Emily greeted, and she strained a smile. "Tough day, hmm?"

Spencer nodded, took a small mouthful of his scotch, and relished the burn as it went down. He lowered his gaze, took in the pattern of the grain in the wood, and admitted, "It's after cases like these when I understand Gideon the most."

"Tell me about it," Morgan agreed, but after that, the subject was swiftly changed to lighter topics, and for a time, Spencer was able to put the last case out of his mind.

Instead, he listened to Garcia bemoan her last failed date, to Emily as she declared a boycott on men, to Morgan's commentary on the available women on the dance floor, and he mused over his coworkers' desire for romantic companionship despite everything, and he wondered, not for the first time, of the what could have beens.

In truth, Spencer wasn't sure why he still thought about her. He'd certainly bedded other women since she'd transferred from Caltech to John Hopkins, had even dated a few for a time, and a fair number of those women had been interested in a future with him, but for whatever reason, he couldn't let her go, couldn't get her out of his system, regardless of the time that had past, of the likelihood she'd moved on, of the fact that he, and likely her, were very different people from the impressionable kids they'd been six years earlier. They'd lasted a single summer, and yet for him, that single summer of playful days and glorious nights could never be enough.

With a shake of his head, Spencer drained his glass, got to his feet, and approached the bar. He bought another round of drinks on him, and was waiting to collect them when a woman sidled up beside him. He took stock of her dress, black, silky, a halter neck that barely brushed the middle of her thighs, and was about to brush her off when he caught sight of her face.

Then he turned, stared in unabashed surprise, and contemplated the existence of fate. In front of him, with that same impish smile, and her sparkling eyes, was the one that got away, and Spencer Reid was lost for words.


	10. The One That Got Away II: Criminal Minds

**The one That Got Away**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Criminal Minds. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Two:**

_Some melodies are best left undone_

_I feel the time pass away_

_But in my songs, you'll always stay_

_I don't need you to tell me I'm the one _

_**The One - Vanessa Carlton**_

Blindly, Spencer reached for his scotch, swallowed a mouthful, and tried to pull together his scattered mind. As he did so, the object of his surprise watched on, that same, all too familiar smile on her face, a glass of wine in hand, and apparently entirely content to watch him process her appearance in front of him.

"Charlotte Saunders," he rasped, and his gaze flicked across her features.

Her face was thinner, older,bright eyes enhanced by thick black liner and mascara. Her black curls had been straightened, done up in a high ponytail, with the exception of the box fringe that framed her face, accentuating her high cheekbones and her thin nose. Gone was the gothic makeup and accessories she'd once favoured, the combat boots and spiked collars, but the woman she'd become, in her cocktail dress and stiletto heels, was a sight to behold.

"Hello, Spencer," she answered, and her smile was fond. "It's good to see you. You look well."

"As do you," Reid acknowledged.

He set his scotch on the tray the bartender had offered him, and he hesitated. A part of him wanted to return to his friends, to pretend as though he'd not come across this surreal blast from his past, but a bigger part of him, a nostalgic, reminiscent side of him, wanted to sit down and catch up on her life, learn what he'd missed, discover how much she'd changed beyond her sense of fashion.

As Amy Winehouse's 'Will You Still love Me Tomorrow?' filtered from the bar's speakers, and as Reid caught Morgan's eye across the room, the scientist made his decision, and he smiled at his former flame.

"Did you want to go for a walk?"

Charlotte nodded, a coy, enigmatic kind of smile on her face, and informed Reid that she'd meet him outside in ten minutes. Spencer acquiesced, gathered up the tray of drinks he'd ordered, and made his way back to his friends. Drinks were distributed, scotch was drained, and Spencer smiled at his friends, sheepish.

"This is where I leave you," Spencer informed them, "I uh… ran into an old friend. We're going to go… catch up."

Morgan looked skeptical. "Is that a euphemism for 'have hot, wild monkey sex'?"

Reid's responding stare was deadpan, but before he could reply, Garcia and Prentice shooed him away, and he left willingly, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, thoughts on the past, gaze on his future.

He made it outside, settled against a light post, and cast a wary gaze around him. He lived in a safe part of town, and the jazz bar was a reputable one, but night had a tendency to bring out the worst in people, and Spencer had learned years ago never to be caught off guard.

"I'm surprised your here," Charlotte spoke, and he watched her approach from the bar, "I figured you'd still be at Caltech, teaching egocentric grad students the finer details of Mathematics."

Spencer's smile was rye. "I've been here for three and a half years now, actually."

"Yeah?" She enquired. "You'll have to show me around some time. I started my internship at the Quantico Memorial hospital in August."

"Congratulations," he acknowledged, and they walked on, the silence between them easy, mindless.

He thought about that summer so long ago, when there had been so much to say, and not enough time. He remembered when they'd sprawled out in her twin sized bed, and stared at the stars through her loft apartment skylight, the silence between them a blanket of contentment, their fingers entwined, and the promise of forever in every gesture. He could still imagine the caress of her skin, and the brush of her lips, the sensation of her silken heat wrapped around him, and the love in her eyes.

"What brought you to Virginia?" She enquired, and Spencer pulled off his jacket, draped it over her shoulders, and tried not to bring attention to the glock under his arm.

"Work," he answered, "I'm employed with the FBI these days."

She hummed thoughtfully. "That's not really what I expected of you."

"I get that a lot," he answered sardonically, and he wasn't inclined to pursue the topic.

"Is it worth it?"

Reid sighed. "Most days. Then there are others, and sometimes, it feels like I lose faith in humanity with every case we close."

After that, they stuck to the lighter topics, like holiday destinations, and mutual friends, and their respective academic accomplishments. She'd received her Psychology doctorate at seventeen, but she'd recently completed med school, and she was on her way to becoming the countries youngest neurologist.

Though they had different interests, and contrasting fields of expertise, Spencer had never met someone who could match him mind for mind the way Charlotte Saunders did. Their first encounter had seen them in a battle of wits before the hour was out, they'd been solid friends shortly thereafter, and he was in her bed days later. The rest was history, as the saying went, but the ghost of the girl had lingered years after she'd left his life, and even as she walked on beside him, he found himself pondering that same persistent question: what if?Absently, he slowed to a stop outside of his apartment building, Charlotte followed suit beside him, and they stood in silence, weighed down by the things left unsaid, by the possibility of _now_, and the aftermath in their future.

Spencer took the plunge.

"Did you want to come up?"

Charlotte nodded her agreement, and she followed Reid up the three flights of stairs, down the long, carpeted hallway, and into his house, still not nearly tidy enough for present company. He helped off his coat, deposited it over the back of an armchair, and gave her an awkward half smile.

"I'll be right back. Just make yourself comfortable."

Spencer retreated into his room, stored away his gun, badge and wallet, took the opportunity to kick off his shoes and carted his hands through his hair. The urge to laugh, amazed and disbelieving an just that little bit awed, was almost irrepressible, but he'd become an expert in compartmentalising, and his emotions would simply have to wait.

Before he returned to the living room, Spencer stopped by his spare bedroom turned store room, approached the back wall, and retrieved a dust covered bottle of wine stored on a wine rack there. Napa Valley, 1964, and a swing back to the nights where they'd guzzled down cheap wine like water, and consisted on a diet of tofu burgers and vege chips.

A brief stop in the kitchen to gather a pair of wine glasses and a bottle opener followed, but when he entered his living room, he was unsurprised to find that she'd settled herself comfortably on his sectional, his battered acoustic in her lap, and her dexterous fingers confident along the frets and steel strings.

"Do you still perform?" Reid enquired, for lack of anything else to say.

"Not nearly often enough," she answered, "Do you?"

"It's cathartic," he admitted, "Takes my mind off work."

Her gaze flicked across the case files, all blessedly closed, and he briefly thanked himself for his paranoid tendencies.

"Guess you need an escape in your line of work…"

"Something like that," he agreed. He set down the glasses of wine, arched an expectant eyebrow, and smiled fondly when she gave a nod of ascent. He unstoppered the bottle, poured them each a liberal amount, and set down the bottle on the end table, far from any files, research papers, or music sheets.

"No girlfriend?" She pried. He should have felt awkward, and perhaps it was because of the alcohol, or he was simply still too dumbfounded by her presence in his living room, because all he could manage was mild curiosity.

"Are you interested?" He teased, and ignored the fact that he was genuinely interested in her answer. Their time, he knew, had passed them by.

She laughed, swirled her wine around in her glass, and answered, "I just figured your hypothetical girlfriend wouldn't appreciate her boyfriend's ex in his living room."

"Touche," he conceded, and continued, "No girlfriend though, so no worries."

She pretended to wipe sweat from her brow and again, they chatted of mindless things, and before he knew it, it was as though no time had passed at all, Charlotte was curled up against his side, and this time as they dreamed together, it was of the past, and of the what could have beens.

It seemed only natural, then, to wind up with her in his bed, tangled between the sheets, and the world faded, forgotten beyond the dimensions of his queen size and the shadows of his room.

With a reverent, almost desperate, whisper of her name on his lips, Spencer trailed his fingers along the familiar, yet not, contours of her body, the satiny feel of her skin, the glide of her tongue against his own. Here, with her velvet heat tight around him, and as he watched the nirvana that flit across her expression, as he came down from his own glorious high, he imagined he'd found paradise, and he never wanted to leave.

Not for anything in the world.


	11. Conviction I: Harry Potter

**Conviction**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** The truth hurts. Lies do too. Voldemort's alive, or is he? Cedric Diggory and Elain Potter survived the graveyard, but Voldemort's a monster, and despite all their problems, the worst is yet to come. OotP AU. Cedric/Elain (fem!Harry).

**Rating:** M for language, mild adult themes, violence and eventual character death.

**Author:** tlyxor1.

**Chapter 1:**

**Privet Drive hadn't changed in the year she'd been gone, but as Elain trailed her fingers across **_**her**_** flowers, she thought the predictability was almost a comfort. Here, she could expect everything down to what meal Petunia would have her prepare for dinner that evening, and after the fresh hell that was her last school year, and particularly, the final task of the Triwizard Tournament, she appreciated the monotony of chores, homework, and an exercise routine that kept her fit, in shape, and healthy. **

**It had been a week since Hogwarts had let out for the summer holidays, and it hadn't taken two of those days for Elain to fall into the daily grind of life on Privet Drive. After a daily exercise routine she'd created with her chaser friends, Elain was provided breakfast by Dobby or Winky, low fat yoghurt, sliced fruits and a boiled egg, with a side of freshly squeezed orange juice and the various medications Madam Pomfrey had prescribed Elain over the years.**

**After that, Elain was given a list of chores to fill her morning, but after lunch, again provided by Dobby or Winky, her afternoons were free, and Elain took distinct advantage of it. She swam laps in the local swimming pool on Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons, which helped to keep her cool, but also helped with her cardiovascular exercise, and also kept her away from her cousin, Dudley, and his brutish friends. Tuesdays and Thursdays, she spent her afternoons with Mrs Prichard in the park, maintaining her fluency in Welsh, and reading the elderly woman poetry from a book the woman always provided.**

**Evenings were reserved for dinner preparation, and it was the only time Petunia pretended not to resent the fact that Elain was magical, was Lily's daughter, and actually treated Elain like a human being. The witch herself thought it was too little, too late, but she enjoyed cooking, so it wasn't as though she was going to say anything.**

**Nights were her own, where she spent at least an hour working on the summer homework she'd been assigned, or researching spells that she thought would be useful in the future. Her tournament research had helped a lot, but her repertoire could only get better, so she'd ordered books from Flourish and Blot's, and in the two days since they'd arrived, she'd already accrued a list of spells two pages long, a list she intended to learn once back at school. **

**Afterwards, she would occupy herself with a novel, or with one of her art journals, until it was past ten, and her fatigue had finally caught up to her. Then she would sleep, suffer through a nightmare or two, and then she would wake up to do it all over again.**

**With a mildly exasperated huff, Elain tugged at the weeds invading her garden, emptied her mind of thought, and startled in unadulterated surprise when someone knelt down on the other side of her flowerbed, a smile on his face she could see through the roses. it was Cedric Diggory, light grey eyes and golden brown hair, cleft chin and handsome features, and without fail, Elain's cheeks dusted pink, a smile pulled at her lips, and her heart skipped a beat.**

"**Cedric," she greeted warmly, pleased to see that the last remnants of scars had faded from his face. He'd not come out of the graveyard fiasco unscathed, but he was lucky to be alive, and he'd said that scars were a small enough price to pay for his life. She was glad they'd not lingered though, because his face was far too nice to be marred by them. "How are you?" **

**Cedric began to pull at weeds on the other side of the flowerbed, that same light, easygoing smile on his face. He was dressed in khakis that cut off below the knees, a plain t-shirt and sandals, but there was something distinctly **_**weird**_** about him gardening. When she protested, however, he waved her off, and Elain was wise enough not to argue the point with an obstinate Hufflepuff.**

"**I'm alright," he answered, "I managed to harass the twins into giving up your address. Do you mind I stopped by? I know it's a little weird…"**

"**Only a little weird," she teased, "But I don't mind at all. What have you been up to since term ended?"**

"**I broke up with Cho," he answered, "I don't know… I feel different, after…"**

**Elain nodded her understanding, expression sombre, and Cedric seemed relieved that he didn't need to explain. She knew all too well that after an encounter like the one they'd both experienced, neither of them would be the same, and though she felt bad that Cedric had to experience that kind of life changing horror, Elain couldn't say she felt bad that he'd broken up with Cho.**

"**I'm sorry."**

"**It's not your fault," he denied, "Don't apologise to me. Anyway, I wondered if you wanted to go to lunch. I feel like you're the only person I can relate to these days, and mum's been driving me 'round the bend at home."**

**Elain checked her watch, a delicate, platinum piece gifted to her by Sirius for Christmas, and was somewhat surprised to find she'd spent nearly her whole morning in the garden. She didn't have any more chores for the day, however, and Petunia and Vernon had given up controlling her around the same time they'd learned of Sirius, her mass-murdering godfather. In any case, they were all out, and so she nodded, began to gather up her gardening supplies, and led the way to the small toolshed at the back of the yard.**

"**Would you give me - say - half an hour to get ready?" She requested. "You can wait in my room."**

**Cedric nodded his acquiescence, followed Elain into her house, up the stairs, and into her small bedroom. She didn't have much by way of decorations, but her bookshelves were full of novels she'd read over the years, her textbooks, school journals, and essay plans were stacked in piles on the desk beneath her floating shelves, and the pale purple walls of her childhood were lined with butterflies.**

"**Your room's cute. Very… feminine."**

"**Shut up," she groused, "I was eight."**

**Cedric laughed, tactfully looked away as Elain gathered up a change of clothes and her toiletries, and began to scan her books as Elain excuse herself to the bathroom. When she returned, he'd started to read through her essay plans, and when he gave her an apologetic smile, she shrugged nonchalantly.**

"**It's not like I expect you to copy off me."**

"**I probably would have if I had to do these essays again," Cedric admitted shamelessly, "I didn't realise you were so interested in school. From what I can tell, these are very good - or will be, anyway."**

"**It's easy to be overshadowed by Hermione's… zealousness," Elain hedged. She packed a small bag of necessities, looked expectantly at the Hufflepuff, and enquired, "Shall we go?"**

"**We shall," Cedric agreed.**

**On the curb outside her house, Elain pulled the strap of her satchel over her head, let the bag drop to her hip, and looked expectantly at her taller companion. He returned the expression in kind, and Elain shrugged cluelessly.**

"**You're the one who asked, you tell me. What's for lunch, Mr Diggory?"**

**Are there any decent restaurants around here?"**

**Elain nodded her confirmation, and led the way towards the centre of Little Whinging. They chatted idly as they walked, about classes, and peers, and quidditch, but when they reached the string of restaurants Little Whinging had to offer, they instead began to bicker the merits of French versus Italian versus Greek.**

"**I'm so over French food," Elain declared, "I mean, I like it well enough, and eclairs have to be the best thing ever, but cor, by April, I would have **_**died**_** for a pie."**

**The pair opted for Italian, and once met by the hostess, they were settled in a shaded part of the alfresco dining area, provided a pitcher and two glasses of water, a couple of menus, and a waitress who looked as though she'd have rather been anywhere else. They ordered their lunch, regardless, and once she'd departed, they began to talk once more.**

"**I saw you had chosen Runes, Arithmency and Care as your third year electives. What do you think of them?"**

**Elain's eyes brightened, and without fail, she began to wax poetic about Ancient Runes and Arithmency. Insightful and particularly intelligent himself, Cedric followed her rambling with an entertained grin on his face, but also manage to turn her one-sided monologue into a discussion about different aspects of either subject, and before they knew it, their waitress had returned with the pizza they'd agreed to go halves on, and when she'd left them once more, conversation continued between mouthfuls of pizza, and the time flew by.**

**Eventually, they finished their meal, and after a brief debate over who would pay, Cedric handed over the thirty pounds they owed, and the pair departed the restaurant, headed back towards Privet Drive.**

"**What do you want to do when you finish Hogwarts?" **

**Elain shrugged, uncertain of how she should answer. Ever since her first Transfiguration lesson, she'd had dreams of obtaining her mastery in the field. Ancient Runes, Arithmency and Bill Weasley's stories had also inspired her desire for adventures as a curse breaker. **

**There was also Madam Pomfrey, who'd begun teaching Elain basic healing spells in her third year, and Elain, in turn, had found she'd had an affinity for something beyond Transfiguration and Ancient Runes. It didn't come so easily to her as her two favourite subjects, but she enjoyed it, and she was even decent at it, and Madam Pomfrey had told her that Elain would likely do well as a mediwitch or healer, if only because she'd experienced a ridiculously broad array of injuries and maladies over the years.**

**Voldemort was out for her blood, however, war was coming, and Elain doubted she'd survive to see any of those dreams come true. It was a sobering thought, but after she'd spoken with the shadows of her parents, and come a hairsbreadth away from death - **_**again**_** - it was one she'd thought about a lot.**

"**I don't know. How about you?"**

**Cedric frowned, but he didn't pursue the issue. Instead, he explained to her that he'd had plans to travel after his final year, to see the world and what have you, but since **_**his**_** resurrection, he'd had thoughts of the Auror Corps, because the Ministry of Magic probably needed all of the aurors they could get.**

"**That's admirable," Elain acknowledged, and the smile on her face was sad, "I'm sorry you have to sacrifice your dreams, though."**

"**It's not your fault," Cedric denied, "**_**You**_** didn't ask **_**Voldemort**_** to terrorise magical Britain, after all. Blame can only lie at **_**his**_** feet."**

"**You said his name," she marvelled.**

"**Yeah, well, I figured, if I'm going to die, than I won't die a coward."**

**Elain, if she were a bolder person, might have kissed him then and there. She wasn't, however, and so she only grinned at him, proud despite herself, and thought the Hufflepuff was doing absolutely **_**nothing**_** to help her get over her crush on him.**

**They reached her house, he hugged her farewell, and after a kiss on her cheek and a promise to write, he continued down the road. Elain watched him leave from the stoop, but then she disappeared inside, upstairs and into her room, where she locked her bedroom door, dropped her satchel on top of her trunk, and flopped gracelessly onto her bed with a contented sigh.**

**She couldn't think of a way her day could get better.**


	12. Yours Sincerely I: Harry Potter

**Yours, Sincerely**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** The same day Elain Potter learns she's a witch, she also learns she's betrothed. The boy's name is Cedric Diggory, and he changes everything. Elain hates it all. Fem!Harry, Philosopher's Stone AU.

**Rating:** T for language, and mild violence.

**Author:** tlyxor1.

**Author's Note:** I've been listening to Taylor Swift all morning. That is all.

**Chapter One: A Day of Surprises**

When Elain turned ten, she read the dictionary. She couldn't explain why, except she'd read all of the children's fiction books she was interested in, and when she'd decided to turn to non-fiction instead, the dictionary had seemed like a good place to start. She hadn't memorised every word in the English language - not by any stretch of the imagination - but she could say, with no small ounce of pride, that her vocabulary was significantly better than the average child her age. it drove Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon barmy, but Elain had come to a conclusion that a lot of things did, and she'd stopped concerning herself with them when she'd finally realised nothing would change their opinion of her.

All the same, when a behemoth of a man by the name of Rubius Hagrid barged into their temporary home by the sea, and systematically turned her life upside down in a matter of minutes, Elain was speechless. She stared at the stranger like a demented guppy, and meanwhile, her Aunt Petunia had become hysterical, her Uncle Vernon had turned a familiar shade of puce, and Dudley, the ingrate, had used what little brain cells he possessed to come to the conclusion that it was probably best if he made himself scarce.

"You're a witch, Ellie."

Elain had stayed awake long after everyone else had gone to sleep, her gaze on the dying fire, and her mind on all she'd learned. She was a witch, her parents were _heroes_, _Elain_ was a hero, and she belonged to a world which her relatives despised. They'd confirmed it though, her alleged _freakishness_, and her new reality, stranger than fiction but real all the same, was nearly impossible to comprehend.

Comprehend she did, however, and some hours later, as the sun climbed over the horizon, and as Hagrid escorted her to a place called Diagon Alley, Elain had already begun to make a mental list of all that she'd need to do. Apparently, her mother and father had left something of a legacy for her, and Elain would need to learn all about it. She'd need to learn the customs, as one of her friends had to do when they'd emigrated from China. She'd need to establish a basic understanding of the subjects she'd learn at Hogwarts, determine whether or not it was genuinely the best magical school in the world, and gather as in-depth an understanding as possible of the culture she was about to walk into, near blindly.

In London, Elain was escorted to a derelict looking pub called 'The Leaky Cauldron', and she watched, mildly curious, as the passers by seemed completely oblivious to its' presence. Their gazes seemed to skip right over it, and Hagrid belatedly explained that it was due to the muggle repellent wards.

To keep the muggles out, she surmised, like the Great Wall of China kept out the vikings, except invisible.

Inside the pub, a man as decrepit as the pub itself greeted Hagrid with an offer of a pint, it was refused, and Hagrid, rather obtusely, explained that he was escorting 'Ellie' as she gathered her school supplies for Hogwarts. Tom raised the question if she was _Ellie Potter_, and as soon as Hagrid had confirmed it, the girl was swarmed with strangers. They touched her face, her hands, her shoulders, but they all seemed to fastidiously avoid her hair, and though Elain was grateful through her anxiety, she was also confused.

"A witch's hair is sacred," Hagrid explained, after another expression of surprise when he realised Elain was absolutely clueless, "The only people entitled to touch it is family, and the wizard you'll marry."

Elain nodded her understanding, though she really didn't understand at all, and focused her attention on Hagrid as he opened up the passage into Diagon Alley. It was hidden behind a brick wall in the alleyway at the back of the pub, but at the tip of Hagrid's obnoxiously pink umbrella, the bricks seemed to fold in on themselves, and a doorway into the marketplace beyond beckoned to her.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley."

It was as though she'd walked right into a strange blend of medieval and victorian marketplaces, with the luxuries of (relatively) modern hygiene. Cobblestone streets were bordered by shops and lined with street vendors, animals of all sorts roamed the walkways, as did people, and blatantly magical beings. There were cauldrons and potions ingredients and broomsticks and all sorts of other such wares for sale, owls and cats and toads, trunks and books and too many other things Elain didn't recognise, and the entire shopping district was a sight to behold.

"It's extraordinary," she declared, and Hagrid's dark eyes crinkled in a smile.

"Come, we'll stop at Gringott's first."

Gringott's was an enormous structure made of marble, run by goblins and apparently the wizarding bank. There were three sets of doorways into the lobby, bronze doors opened by the guard goblins, silver inscribed with a poem (and threat) she took to heart, and a significantly smaller set of gold doors that opened into the afore-mentioned lobby. It was a grand affair, with black marble floors and a stained glass domed ceiling. The tellers were goblins, as were the guards, but the greater majority of customers were wizards, and like all of the others, Elain and Hagrid stepped into the shortest line available.

The ensuing proceedings passed quickly, and soon enough, Elain found herself in a vault - left in trust until she came of age - full of gold, bronze, and silver coins. She stowed a few handfuls of each in a bag provided by Hagrid, but as she moved to leave, Elain caught sight of a couple of other things hidden behind the vault door. A trunk, and a satchel, both of which were adorned with a cote of arms Elain didn't recognise, but very clearly left for her.

Her breath hitched, and Elain was filled with a longing she thought she'd suppressed years ago.

Could it be?

It was.

With a delighted smile, Elain deposited her money pouch into her new satchel, pulled the strap over her head, and dragged the trunk around the door. Hagrid picked it up for her with ease, Elain accepted the key back from the goblin with thanks, and she watched, thoughts elsewhere, as the goblin closed the vault behind them. She clambered into the cart, but paid no attention to Hagrid and his none too subtle delight with whatever 'Hogwarts Business' the headmaster had him on. She was too busy with inspecting the satchel, in which were a number of velvet boxes of varying sizes, a couple of parchment envelopes, and a leather bound book she belatedly realised was a photo album.

After that, Elain's day passed in a blur. She retrieved all that her booklist required of her and then some, Hagrid had gifted her with a stunning snowy owl, a boy at the robe shop had shoved his foot in his mouth, and eventually, Elain was dropped off at her home, settled herself comfortably in her small bedroom after a dinner of chicken and mashed potatoes, and she _finally_ turned her attention to what she had been anticipating all day.

With care, Elain emptied the satchel out across her bed, four ring boxes, two wand boxes, two envelopes addressed to 'Lulu', and a photo album. She touched them each with reverence, imagined her mother and father had held them at one time, and eventually reached for one of the two envelopes, the penmanship an elegant cursive Elain could only envy.

The letter within read:

_Elain _

_This letter is a contingency plan should the worst come to pass, and neither your father and I are present to tell you this information ourselves. We're in danger, and neither James or I are nearly so shortsighted as we would have others believe. All the same, as I write this, I hope with all my heart that this precaution is unnecessary, but as you read this, it is clear that our family has not been so fortunate._

_I could spend an age writing a list of all my hopes and dreams for you, but there is information that must be shared, and beyond that, I would rather you live your life as you wish, rather than emulate those hopes in a misplaced desire to make me proud. You need not try, my love, because I'm already so very, very proud of you._

_To the matter at hand, I must tell you the most important details you must know. Your father's letter will explain what precautions we have taken, and what we've left for you as well. To begin with, however, I will tell you this: all we have done was with your best interests at heart, and I hope that one day, you will understand._

_When you were born, James and I were surprised beyond belief that you were born a girl. There hasn't been a female Potter born for an age, and almost as soon as it was announced, we were inundated with requests for alliance, for betrothal, offered money and prestige in exchange for your hand in marriage._

_Understand, it was dangerous times, we were desperate, and the list of those whom we could trust had drawn short. We were afraid for our lives, but mostly, we were afraid for yours, so we made a judgement call. We made an alliance with a family we knew we could trust, symbolised by a betrothal agreement between yourself and their son, Cedric. For the loss of your freedom to choose, I apologise from the bottom of my heart, but the choice was not made lightly. The family's name is Diggory, the boy's name is Cedric, but that is all i will tell you about him._

_A lot would have changed in ten years, after all._

…

The letter continued to explain the existence of a prophecy that heralded the downfall of Lord Voldemort. Evidently, it referenced a child to be born at the end of July, and the only two applicable were she, and a girl named Eleanor, and though neither were certain of whom would become the subject of prophecy, neither James nor Lily intended for their daughter to be unprepared for any scenario. It finished with an expression of Lily's hope that Elain took the opportunity of life at Hogwarts to get to know Cedric Diggory, and after that, the closing 'With love, Lily.

Elain settled the letter down with care, dropped back against her pillow, and stared blankly at the ceiling overhead. Her mind was blank, absent of thought, and Elain wondered if this was what shock felt like, because surely she'd been given far too many surprises for one day. And so she fell asleep, exhausted, and promised herself she'd worry about everything in the morning.


	13. Compromised I: HP Avengers

**Compromised**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Avengers' or 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** Badass assassin spy ninjas. A match made in subterfuge, or something like it, but not really, because Elle Potter was supposed to be retired, and Clint Barton was no ninja. Elle(fem!Harry)/Clint. AU.

**Rating:** M for language, violence, mild adult themes and character death.

**Author:** tlyxor1. .

**Compromised**

**Prologue: Summons **

_**July 10th, 2012**_

The call arrives at a quarter to three in the morning. She's just been woken from a sound sleep, she's tired, and she has no desire to learn what tragedy awaits her on the other end of the line, but all the same, she sits up in her bed, picks up the handset and presses it to her ear, indisputably terrified.

Apparently, she's a glutton for punishment.

Or maybe she's just a realist.

"Potter residence," she begins, tremulous, but she bolsters herself quickly, because Elaine Potter, or Nightshade, in some circles, has _never_ been weak. She won't start now. "Elaine speaking."

The voice on the other line is familiar, brusk and stern, blank of warmth, and kindness, or any such display of emotion - of _weakness_ - because he cannot allow for anything less. Not in his line of work and position of authority.

Elle doesn't expect anything else from her lover's boss. Hers too, she admits to herself.

"Barton's been compromised." Fury pauses. "We need you."

And Elaine doesn't really have time to hesitate. "I'll be there."


	14. Compromised II: HP Avengers

**Compromised**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter' or 'Avengers'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter One: Probationary Officer**

_1st October, 2003_

They called her Nightshade. Curvy, small, with a Mona Lisa smile, and a face most women would die for. The same could be said for the entire package, in truth, a tiny waist, but disproportionately wide hips, legs up to her armpits, and a rack that should only ever be worshipped.

"You survived training. Congratulations."

Coulson couldn't sound more enthused if he was watching grass grow. Clint himself was occupied with SHIELD's newest recruit, with the brightest eyes he'd ever seen, and an almost _innocent_ sort of sexuality that was difficult to ignore.

"Thank you," she acknowledged. Her voice was devoid of an English accent, but her tone was low and throaty, and he thought she could probably wrap men around her little finger with a whisper of their names on her tongue and a flutter of those thick black lashes.

No wonder SHIELD thought she'd make an excellent asset. She was a temptress without even trying.

"My name is Phil Coulson. I'm your handler, which essentially means I watch over you on and off field duty. Hawkeye, here, can explain further. Do you understand that until further notice, you'll be a probationary officer under the seniority of Agent Barton?"

"Yes," she confirmed. She met his gaze, a clash of grey and green, and her lips pulled into the slightest of smiles.

"Excellent," Coulson acknowledged, "In that case, welcome to SHIELD. Barton will show you your quarters. You are, of course, free to live off base, but you will always have a room here as well."

Phil disappeared into his office, and Clint approached the girl with his hand outstretched for a handshake. She shook it, her grip firm and callused, and all he could think about was the fact that the girl was eighteen, formerly trained by Britain's MI-6 from the age of ten, and probably as jaded by her past as Clint was by his.

"Clint Barton."

"Elle Potter. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"The feeling's mutual. It should be an experience working with you."

He showed her the way to the quarters they would share. It was a dormitory more than anything, a set of bunk beds, a chest of drawers, and a small attached bathroom with a medicine cabinet behind the mirror. Clint didn't use it much, more comfortable with his dinky little apartment in Brooklyn when he wasn't in the field, but he kept a supply of clothes and weapons available, and offered up two of the drawers for her use.

"It's not much." He shrugged. He wouldn't feel guilty about something that wasn't his fault.

"It's enough," she answered simply. "After the streets, it's almost luxury."

He couldn't deny that. He chuckled instead, nodded his agreement, and asked if she'd want to spar later. They'd have to get a feel for each other's fighting styles soon enough, and it would be better if they weren't thrown head first into the field beforehand. That could get people killed, and it would probably do them both well to get to know each other, if only marginally.

Trust, after all, took time.

That was what found them in the gym several hours later. Their first stop had been the shooting range, where he'd learned that she had a frankly _wicked_ skill with throwing knives. She excelled with guns as well, but her preference, as he understood, was blades, and he'd not been about to contest her preference for weapons that were arguably out of date.

In turn, she'd learned that his marksmanship skills were second to none, that he could use any weapon offered to him, but his first choice would always be the bow and arrow.

In the gym, they'd kicked off their shoes, warmed up, and begun to spar, and 45 minutes later, they'd begun to tire ages ago, and yet neither had called a halt to the exercise, and Clint had come to the conclusion that the girl was probably as stubborn as he himself was. They were more or less equal in skill, however, and after they'd gone all out in the last ten minutes, Clint finally called their spar to a halt, drenched in sweat and short of breath.

"I'm impressed," Clint admitted, "No one's ever been able to manage so long against me before."

"I was partnered with you for a reason," she acknowledged dryly, "As I understand it, our eventual missions will be the suicidal sort. After I left MI-6, it took SHIELD a long time to find me."

"Why did you leave?"

Her gaze darkened, her expression soured, and Clint contemplated the possibility that they'd been paired together for more reasons than their preternatural skill for fighting and killing things. He didn't pursue the topic, however, and instead, he led the way towards the mess hall, where they enjoyed idle chit chat over lunch and public scrutiny.

"Have you read my file?" He enquired.

"Yes. I refused to go in blindly, and Fury's desperate enough to be accommodating. I doubt I received all of the facts, however."

"Not likely," he agreed. "I read yours as well."

She gave another Mona Lisa smile, but she also changed the subject, and Clint took the opportunity to regale her with stories of terrorising the trainees.

"Yes," she acknowledged dryly, "I remember your Nerf arrows. Sanderson was particularly unimpressed when you managed to superglue one to his forehead."

Clint laughed shamelessly, and explained that he used it as a training exercise. It kept their guard up, kept them vigilant, and kept them humble. The supervisors saw the merit in junior hazing, and thus, it wasn't stopped.

"We don't need arrogant jackasses in the field," he continued, "It's dangerous enough without assholes who think they know best. It weeds out the most competent from the sorry bastards who wouldn't survive a day. I don't remember ever shooting _you_."

"My training officer in MI-6 practised the method of 'constant vigilance'. He snuck up on recruits and shouted it in our ears until we learned to be perpetually on guard. I learned 'constant vigilance' very quickly."

Their conversation continued, reliving meaningless anecdotes about their training experiences, and before long, it was past three. Clint showed her to the office they would have to share, she made herself comfortable at the empty desk, and Clint himself procrastinated his way through a pile of paperwork he'd been putting off for days. Eventually though, he'd finished, the paperwork was filed, and the pair settled themselves in their dorm, for what would be the first test of their partnership: sharing a room.

For a pair of assassins, it was a lot easier said than done.


	15. Out of the Woods I: HP

**Out of the Woods**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** Another year comes with another set of challenges, but this time, it's not quite the fatal kind. Not for Elle Potter, anyway. Voldemort still lurks in the shadows, however, and her safety isn't as certain as she would believe. Goblet of Fire but… not. Spans four years. Fem!Harry AU. Elle/Cedric.

**Author:** tlyxor1.

**Chapter One**

The girl in the mirror stared back at her, petite and trim, with curves that seemed to have flourished overnight. Her verdant eyes were critical as they assessed her form from bottom to top, and in the end, she came to the conclusion that puberty was a nightmare. Never mind she'd had to put up with her cycle for the last two years already, the discomfort of bras was a misery Elle could do without, but such was life, and the girl supposed there was nothing she could do about it.

The examination of her body led to a study of her face. She'd grown out of the puppy fat that had clung to her cheeks, and in it's wake, her face was slender, with high cheekbones, a button nose, and plump lips stained pink. Verdant eyes were framed by thick black lashes, dark hair cascaded past her shoulders in a tumble of thick, heavy curls, and her scar, ever unwelcome, was hidden behind a box fringe she'd boasted since the age of eleven.

With a grimace at her reflection, Ellie pulled on the dress she'd set aside for the occasion, a pale blue number with thick straps, a clinging bodice, and a skirt that reached mid-thigh. It was one of many garments her newfound cousin had purchased for her in Sirius' name, but as she slipped her feet into the accompanying ballet flats and retrieved her accompanying handbag, her thoughts were on the day ahead and, specifically, the journey to Hogwarts.

There came a knock at her bedroom door, and once she'd opened it, she found Remus on the other side, prematurely aged by the wolf, but smiling, and happier than he'd been the entire school year prior. Sirius' presence back in his life, broken and hollow as he was, had done Remus wonders, and Elle supposed it was part of the pack mentality he adhered to. She hadn't asked, she probably never would, but she was glad to see that her godfather, and the man who might as well have been another one, were finally recovering from the tragedy that had destroyed all their lives.

"Are you ready?" He queried.

"Yes," she confirmed, and followed Remus' descent into the basement kitchen of her new home.

12 Grimmauld Place had been rather unpleasant at the start of summer, but with the destruction of most every black magic artefact within the townhouse, and the hard work of Dobby and Winky, it had been transformed by the end of July. The dark decor and grimy windows had been replaced by light, neutral colours, the rooms brightly illuminated by sunshine, and it hadn't taken long for Elle to consider it _her_ home.

"Have you got everything, Ellie?" Sirius enquired. He was stretched out in a chair at the small kitchen table, the 'Daily Prophet' in front of him, but his gaze on Elle herself, grey eyes fathomless behind thick lashes. He was on the road to recovery, far less gaunt than he had been, but he still had a long way to go, and a lot of hurdles to climb. She didn't think he'd ever be the same man he had been before Azkaban though. He was far too jaded by the hardships life had thrown his way. He was part of her life, at least, and that was more than Elizabeth had ever dared to dream for.

"Yes, Sirius," she confirmed, mildly exasperated. She wasn't used to the attention of parental figures, was instead accustomed to taking care of herself, and though a part of her appreciated their attentiveness, was even grateful that she now had two adults in her corner, the rest of her rankled at the treatment.

"Time to go, then," Sirius acknowledged.

Elizabeth herself smiled gratefully, approached the fireplace, and deposited a handful of floo powder into the crackling flames. She stepped inside, called out her destination, and disappeared from Grimmauld Place in a whirl of emerald fire.

Fireplaces flew past her in a blur of light and colour, Elizabeth put her weight on one foot, and as she was spat out onto platform 9 and 3/4, she took a few skipping steps forward until her momentum had slowed, and her balance had returned. She looked around her, the station the very same as it had been at the start of summer, and she smiled fondly at the sight of the Hogwarts Express. Behind her, Sirius and Remus stepped through the flames, the motions almost artistic in their ease, and the girl envied their grace.

The sensation was fleeting."Are you excited to be headed back?"

She tilted her head side to side, and shrugged. "More or less."

It had been an exciting summer. She'd moved in with Sirius and Remus, she'd visited her friends and they'd visited her in return. She'd written letters to others, back and forth in a loop that had only ended the day before. Finally, she'd had the distinct pleasure of attending the Quidditch World Cup with her friends, and Elizabeth had been entirely serious when she'd insisted that it had been the best summer of her life. For that, she was sad to see it come to an end, but she was excited for the year ahead as well, and it was also nice to know she'd have Sirius and Remus at home, waiting for her, when she returned.

"Try not to stress too much about your OWL's," Remus advised, "Have fun. Arguably, Hogwarts will be the best years of your life."

"I will," Elle assured, hugged them both, and made her way towards the train. Her trunk was the size of a matchbook in her handbag, Hedwig was probably already at Hogwarts, and Elizabeth boarded without incident, unable to shake the melancholy she felt. For the first time, it felt as though she was leaving a part of herself behind, and as she glanced over her shoulder, and caught sight of Remus and Sirius watching her, Elle supposed she was.

Inside their usual compartment, Elle found Ron and Hermione in the midst of another one of their spats. A prefect's badge gleamed on the breast pocket of Hermione's blazer, and Elle was neither surprised to find that Hermione was already in her uniform, and had been assigned the prefect responsibility for the Gryffindor girls in her year.

"Hello, Ellie," Nora greeted, and Elle returned the address in kind, happy to see her quietest friend.

Elle had visited with Ron and Hermione, and a number of others during the Quidditch World Cup, but Nora had spent her holiday hiking through the Amazon, and though she didn't begrudge her friend her adventures, Elle hadn't been fond of the consequent radio silence from the Longbottom heiress. They'd bonded over their shared status as orphans and their respective inheritances, and the expectations they were burdened by, and Elle had missed her - a lot.

"How are you? how was Brazil?"

"Wonderful," Nora replied, "Though I could have done without the insects. On the bright side, I've gotten really good at insect repellent charms."

"I'll bet," Elle agreed, dropped herself into the seat beside her friend, and cast her gaze onto the platform. "You'll have to teach me some. They'll probably come in useful someday."

As Ron and Hermione, after properly greeting Elle, took off for the prefect's meeting, the two girls used the opportunity to catch up on their respective lives. As it happened, Nora had indulged in a summer romance with a wizard from Columbia, and Elle soaked up the details, excited for her friend.

"What about you?" Nora queried, "You and Cedric had that thing going on at the end of last year."

That _thing_ had been a mutual flirtation between seekers, and perhaps had the year not come to an end, it would have become something more. They'd exchanged letters though, and she'd gotten to know him better for it, and Elle was excited to see him again. The time and distance had done nothing about her attraction for him, and rather, the letters probably just gave her feelings a depth they'd previously lacked.

"I don't know," she shrugged, "I guess we'll see."

She withdrew her trunk from her handbag, enlarged it on the floor,and floated it onto the racks overhead. She'd have to retrieve her uniform later, but there was still several hours until they reached northern Scotland, and as the rain began to pelt down outside, Elle thought she should enjoy her summer clothes while she still could.

After a while in which most of their conversation topics had been exhausted, Elle withdrew a novel from her bag, propped her feet against the opposite bench, and immersed herself in the tragedy that was Katherine and Heathcliff, ignorant of the students that passed their cabin by.

That is, of course, until Cedric Diggory made his appearance.

Elle smiled up at him, unsurprised to find that he'd grown over the holidays. An inch or two taller, and his shoulders broader than she recalled, he still wore that same lopsided smile on his face, and when he asked to talk alone, Elizabeth couldn't refuse.

Instead, she linked their fingers together, and side by side, they meandered down the train until they'd found an empty compartment in the very last carriage. He closed the door behind them, and after a hug that didn't last nearly long enough, the sixth year guided Elle to settle beside him, far closer than a platonic friendship really called for.

The thought made her stomach churn with nervous anticipation, and as she gnawed at her lower lip, she silently hoped that Cedric had sought privacy for a reason.

"What is it?" She queried, when he only smiled at her. His thumb traced patterns into the hand he still held, and the sensation seemed to burn right through her. "I'm nervous."

"I'm really glad we wrote this summer," Cedric informed her, "And I was just… well, I really like you, Elle, and I wondered if you'd go out with me? I mean, I know there won't be a Hogsmeade weekend until October, but I didn't think I could wait that long, and I've wanted to ask you for ages, but I felt like I didn't really know you until this summer, and I'm kind of barmy for you, so, will you? Go out with me, that is?"

Elle's smile was beatific. "I'd love to, Cedric."


	16. Down the Rabbit Hole I: HP Glee

**Down The Rabbit Hole**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter' or 'Glee'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** "There's a fine line between persistence and harassment." A fresh start in Lima, Ohio, spirals out of control when William McKinley High's 'New Directions' decide to adopt - and convert - Hadley Potter as one of their own. "Consider it crossed. Thoroughly." Goblet of Fire/Order of the Phoenix fem!Harry AU.

**Rating:** M for language, violence and mild adult themes.

**Author:** tlyxor1.

**Chapter One: The Resolution**

"Do you regret it?"

Hadley Potter smiled, shook her head, and answered in the negative. In turn, Sirius Black's smile was sad, and his melancholia was almost tangible. He hated that she couldn't enjoy magic as most teenagers her age had, but it seemed as though she'd opted to embrace the life she'd chosen for herself, and Sirius couldn't begrudge that.

"Are you ready, then?"

"Yes," Hadley confirmed. She drained the last of her tea, brushed her fringe out of her eyes, and followed her godfather towards the garage. "I'm nervous, though."

It would be her first day at William McKinley High School. She'd spent the last six months engrossed in the arduous task that was catching up on her muggle education, and it had all finally culminated with her enrolment into the tenth grade class of an American secondary school.

"I understand that's fairly normal," Sirius acknowledged. He settled himself in the driver's seat of his new Audi, Hadley clambered into the passenger seat, and as the garage door rolled up behind them, he continued, "But you'll be fine. You're Hadley, after all."

Hadley chuckled, relaxed in her seat, and watched as the scenery passed them by. They'd moved into the old Potter house in Lima, Ohio, near the start of August, and though the small town was slowly but surely becoming familiar to her, it was still a novelty enough for Hadley to be occupied by the sites around her, uninteresting as they happened to be.

Before long, Sirius pulled up at the drop off zone at her new school, and after a brief hug for her godfather, Hadley clambered out of the car, closed the door behind her, and shouldered her bag. She cast her gaze over the parking lot, and the fields and building beyond it, and decided she appreciated the fact her new school was a complete antithesis to Hogwarts. She'd learned to love and hate the castle and all of it's wonder, so as she strode towards the main school building, Hadley could also recognise that there was a part of her that anticipated the total _normalcy_ this new opportunity presented.

At William McKinley High, she wasn't Hadley Potter: saviour, martyr, villain, or any other such title she'd never wanted or appreciated. Here, she was Hadley Potter, English transfer student, and entirely normal besides. It was amazing, really, and more than she could say, Hadley looked forward to the opportunity to be judged by her own appearance and actions as opposed to the legend of the thrice damned 'Girl Who Lived'.

She reached her locker without incident, emptied most of the contents of her bag within, and closed it with a click. She had nothing else to do though, and without a desire to wait in the classroom, Hadley made her way to the quad, sought out an empty table, and brought out her art journal to pass the time. It was filled with drawings, and mindless song lyrics - original and not - and for Hadley, it kept her occupied until the bell sounded for her first class.

Her morning passed. She met a variety of people, had probably forgotten half of their names, but on her way from her locker, she stopped by the sophomore notice board, withdrew a pen from her bag, and signed up for soccer and debating. She'd contemplated the cheerleaders and the show choir, but it hadn't taken Hadley three hours in her new school to determine that it was a bad idea. Both teams were in the spotlight for the worst reasons and the transfer student would prefer to avoid the attention if she could help it. In any case, she could join gymnastics in the winter term, and it wasn't as though she'd be deprived of the opportunity to sing and dance elsewhere.

"Hadley, did you want to sit with Sunshine and I?"

Hadley turned her head, and smiled at the sight of one of her fellow transfer students. His name was Sam, blonde and green eyed, kind of clueless, but nice enough. He'd moved from Texas, he was eager for the football tryouts, and as Hadley agreed, and his smile lit up his features, she found that the expression was contagious.

"Sure, Sam. Lead the way."

Their path to the quad was disturbed by a blatant display of bullying. Students watched, or turned their heads, but in the centre of the hallway, a girl she recognised from her Algebra class, wearing a black ballet tutu over black and pink striped leggings had just been met with a slushie shower, courtesy of a jock whose letterman jacket read 'Azimio'.

"Did that… did that just happen" Hadley was incredulous."

Sam nodded, expression grim. His lips were pursed, his gaze followed the trail of purple slushie to the puddle on the floor, and Hadley, as she told Sam that she'd meet him in the quad before she followed the girl into the nearest restroom, was left to wonder what kind of academic institution allowed such an abhorrent display of harassment among its students.

"I don't know what the hell that was, but do you need help cleaning up? That can't be pleasant."

The girl glanced up from where she'd bowed her head over a basin, and her smile was tinged with an entirely justifiable bitterness. She was pretty though, with long hair and a thin face, and Hadley had to wonder about the reason behind why she'd been showered in slushie.

"Thanks, but no thanks. My friends will be here any moment. That was a slushie facial, by the way. It's the jocks' favourite tactic in their mission to humiliate us losers, up there with dumpster diving and swirlies."

Appalled, Hadley could only stare, until the silence was disturbed by the bathroom door. It swung open violently, crashed against the wall, and the person who'd entered had to raise his hand to stop it from slapping him in the face. He was tall, thin, and effeminate, with dirty blonde hair and stylish clothing, followed directly afterwards by a curvy black girl with an outfit of bright colours and a bulging handbag.

"This is a girls loo," Hadley said absently, and the pair scowled at her, as though Hadley had said something wrong.

"Don't mind Kurt," her Maths classmate interjected, "He's one of my friends. I'm Tina. The girl behind Kurt is Mercedes. Your name is Hadley, right?"

The green eyed girl nodded her confirmation, stepped back as the pair set to work, and watched in silence as Tina was efficiently sorted out, fresh clothes and all. There was soon no sight of the 'slushie facial' with the exception of her damp hair, but that would dry within a few hours. Hadley was left watching the trio of strangers as they watched her, but she remembered Sam, pulled her bag higher on her shoulder, and with a wave for Tina, Hadley exited the restroom, headed once more for the quad.

"What was that all about?" Sam queried. Hadley had already settled herself across from the blonde and had withdrew her lunch from her bag, so between mouthfuls of the potato bake she'd made the night before, she explained what she'd learned to an attentive Sam and Sunshine,

"That's disgusting," said Sam flatly, "How have the teachers not done anything about it?"

Hadley shrugged cluelessly, Sunshine nibbled at an apple slice, and the silence that fell between them was contemplative. She'd informed them that it was apparently a rite of passage suffered by the alleged 'losers' within the school, students who failed to conform to the status quo, and it had left them each inclined to think about their eventual place in the social hierarchy.

Hadley herself had no real desire to be 'popular'. In Hogwarts, she'd learned that role carried too many expectations, and far too much attention as well. In saying that, she didn't want to be relentlessly bullied either. She'd suffered through that enough in primary school, and with Pansy Parkinson as well, and Hadley wasn't particularly keen on reliving the experience. She wanted simply to blend into the crowd, but in an entirely new country, where things were different enough from Britain to leave her confused, Hadley was afraid it would be far easier said than done.

Particularly when she was violently opposed to bullying in any of its many forms. Hadley hated it, wouldn't tolerate it, and she could almost guarantee that she would attempt to do something about the problem in McKinley High soon enough. Maybe she'd be unsuccessful, but she'd be as bad as the bullies themselves if she didn't try, and Hadley would be damned if she willingly let people suffer the same misery she'd endured for too damn long on Privet Drive.

"There's not much we can really do about it, is there?" Sam asked, though the enquiry was rhetorical, and Hadley didn't have an answer for him anyway. Instead, she shrugged helplessly, finished up the last of her lunch, and stirred her straw around her can of pop. Sunshine didn't have much to say on the topic either, and they sat in a strained, guilty silence until the bell sounded across the courtyard.

Hadley herself gathered her things, threw her rubbish in the bin, and walked with Sunshine towards the English class they shared. Sam had gym, blessedly not co-educational, but as they settled in seats near the middle of the room, and as Tina settled two seats in front of her, Hadley's mind wandered back to the sight of her covered in purple slush, and she decided that it was an experience Hadley never wanted to repeat.

She'd make sure it wouldn't.


	17. Down The Rabbit Hole II: HP Glee

**Down The Rabbit Hole**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or Glee. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Two**

A fortnight after she'd started at William McKinley High, Hadley still hadn't found a solution to the school's bullying issue. She'd joined the soccer and debating teams though, and her friendship with Sam had become something more solid than the awkward foundation of strangers. They didn't have many specific interests in common, but they both enjoyed music, movies, and athletics, and it seemed to be enough for a friendship that could last a while. Sunshine, alternatively, had drifted away from them, and though it was a shame, Hadley had learned that in life, people came and went, and she wasn't about to contest the way the wind blew.

"I made the football team," Sam informed her, and Hadley grinned, pleased for him, "I'm quarterback."

He went on to explain how he'd made the team. Apparently, his competition - a bloke named Finn Hudson - had tried to talk Coach Beiste into allowing a disabled boy onto the team, and had been subsequently kicked out of the trials. Since then, the former captain had auditioned for the cheerleading team with embarrassing results, and Hadley wondered how stupid a person could get in the pursuit of popularity.

"I'm glad for you," she told him, "How about the Glee Club, though? Are you still auditioning for that?"

Sam grimaced, stabbed at his salad, and shrugged halfheartedly. It seemed he wasn't so enthused about the show choir as he had been the week before, and Hadley wondered what had changed. She asked as much, and Sam took a moment to consider his answer.

""I don't want to be treated as more of an outsider than I already am, you know? I mean, these people have known each other forever, and here I am - intruding…"

"I know," Hadley acknowledged, "But I don't know. I don't think fitting in would be worth it, if the people who you want to fit in with couldn't accept you for who you are."

Inwardly, she marvelled over her own hypocrisy, and conceded to herself that talk was cheap. She wondered when she'd become this person, content to dispense a spiel of pretty words, but not bold enough to act on her own advice. She'd never been particularly proud of her behaviour at Hogwarts, the fools rush in approach a complete contradiction to everything she'd practised in her time on Privet Drive; but in saying that, there was something to be said about courage in the face of adversity.

It seemed, however, that with the loss of her Gryffindor blazer, she'd lost her courage too..

Appetite lost with that thought, Hadley pushed her lunch aside, carted a hand through her auburn hair, and asked herself what the hell she was doing. She'd begun to conform herself into the role expected of her - _again_ - just to avoid vilification from the peers she'd told herself not to give a damn about. She was once again pretending to be someone she wasn't to satisfy others, and she asked herself: _why_?

These strangers had done nothing for her.

And yet, when she opened her mouth to speak, words failed her, and Hadley was uncertain of what she wanted to say anyway. So she said nothing, clamped her mouth shut, and glanced at her watch as the school bell sounded. She had English and Gym before she could go home, but all Hadley really wanted to do was to curl up in bed, and to try and work out the girl she was, and to work out the girl she _wanted_ to be.

Was she too young for an identity crisis?

Did they even exist?

"I'll catch you later, Hadley." After a Navi translation of the same words, Sam excused himself from the table with a gallant bow and headed for class.

After a chuckle to herself at his actions, Hadley followed suit, her afternoon of classes passed, and she settled in the passenger seat of her godfather's Audi, lost in her thoughts. They were headed to Dayton to pick up Remus, but Hadley's mind was on her revelations from lunch, and she struggled to muster up the appropriate enthusiasm for their reunion with her favourite were.

"What's on your mind?" Sirius queried. He'd had to raise his voice to be heard over his third repetition of Crunchy Granola Suite, but the man didn't seem at all inclined to turn down the volume.

Hadley shrugged, gaze on the scenery outside her window. She wasn't one for heart to hearts, and even if she was, Hadley wasn't certain she could vocalise what troubled her. All she really understood was that somewhere along the way, she'd lost a part of herself, and she was uncertain of whether or not she could get it back.

Did she even want to?

In any case, Hadley wasn't one for conversation. As a child, she'd been told to sit down and shut up, and eventually, the silence had become second nature. Instead, she'd learned to observe, to wait and watch, and to read people in ways most others didn't care to bother with. She danced and she drew on occasion, she sang, she played her sports and did well in school, but in other ways, she blended into the background, became an observant wallflower, and Hadley was happy with that.`

"I think you pull off the broody look better than I do," Sirius observed glibly.

"I'm fifteen," she answered flippantly, "It comes with the territory."

"Touche."

They picked up Remus without incident, and the drive back to Lima was similarly uneventful. Remus spent it regaling them with stories regarding his trip to Italy and back, and Hadley listened with a small, content smile on her face. Despite her internal conflict, she was happy to see Remus home again, and just as content to listen to his stories of misadventures with Italian to pass the time.

At home, however, as Sirius excused himself to order pizza, and a jet lagged Remus settled down for a nap before dinner, Hadley retreated into her bedroom, flicked on her iPod dock, and hummed along to the Goo Goo Dolls as she made herself comfortable. She'd opted to convert the attic into a loft-style bedroom, and as she settled herself on her bed, Hadley appreciated the solitude her room provided. It was separate from the rest of the house, and particularly, Sirius' crazy, and best of all, it was singularly _hers_. There was no used furniture, or old trinkets, and she'd been able to decorate it to her heart's content.

With a thoughtful hum, Hadley clambered into bed with her laptop, logged into her Facebook account, and had to laugh at the friend requests awaiting her. The Hogwarts students seemed to have taken distinct advantage of the Japanese technomancy inadvertently introduced to them by Hermione, and on top of the new classmates she'd met, she was also inundated by friend requests from her former peers as well. On top of peers from primary school, old and new dance classes, and the people she'd met on her summer holidays, her friends list had grown exponentially, but the number gave her no answers.

The song switched to Gwen Stefani, and the heavy beat of 'Hollaback Girl' was tempting to dance to. Hadley sang along, and before she really knew it, she'd descended the ladder to her loft, happy to improvise a dance routine until the song had come to a close. She had a smile on her face when she was done, carefree and exhilarated, and Hadley had forgotten how much fun dancing - just for the sake of it - could be.

As she moved to ascend the ladder again, Sirius' voice crackled through the intercom system with word that their dinner had arrived. She retraced her steps through the house, found herself in the kitchen, and made herself comfortable at the island. Remus was already there, mindlessly chowing down on a slice of meatlovers, and Hadley smiled to herself. She didn't think she could ever take this feeling of _family_ for granted. It was so very different from Privet Drive, where everything had been disgustingly _fake_, from Vernon and Petunia's affections, from Dudley's good boy attitude, from their _perfect little family_ that had all the neighbours fooled. The contradiction was welcome, however, and Hadley imagined that after nearly a year with Remus and Sirius, she would never be able to go back to her rigid, inflexible existence in Little Whinging.

"Two supreme, one ham and pineapple." Sirius deposited a plate in front of Hadley, offered her a bottle of water, and helped himself to his own serving. "How are you feeling now? Something still bothering you?"

Hadley sighed, picked at the olive pieces on her pizza, and shrugged. Sometime during her impromptu dance session, she'd made the subconscious decision not to think about school, and her place in it,and she had instead opted to let her cards fall where they would. She was irked that Sirius had brought it up, because now Remus was concerned as well, and Hadley hadn't looked forward to an inquisition.

"What's the matter?" Remus asked. He flicked his gaze between Sirius and Hadley, the former shrugged cluelessly, and the latter rolled her eyes.

"_Nothing_."

Neither bought that, but they'd dropped the issue, and Hadley ate the rest of her dinner in peace. She cleaned the kitchen afterwards, a routine from Privet Drive she couldn't shake, and retreated into the living room with thoughts of 'Family Guy' to pass the time.

"Don't you have homework to do?"

Hadley looked at her godfather, shrugged, and considered lying. Padfoot, however, and Moony as well, could sniff out fibs like bloodhounds, and Hadley figured it wasn't worth the lecture from Remus. Therefore, she switched off the television with a reluctant groan, retreated to her bedroom, and settled down to the afore-mentioned study with a grimace. It was a far cry from the magical homework that had interested her so much, but Hadley was an overachiever if nothing else, and the lack of interest didn't mean she'd let herself fail. She'd spent so much of her childhood suppressing herself, that ever since she'd begun at Hogwarts, she'd strove to do the best she could in everything she tried. That hadn't changed due to the change in lifestyle and scenery.

Hadley was, however, distracted by an IM pop-up. It was from Sam, and his words left a heavy feeling in her chest. Guilt, or shame, or maybe even pride, she couldn't determine, but either way, it left her breathless, and her hands trembling.

_I don't think popularity is worth pretending to be someone I'm not. I joined the Glee Club this afternoon._

Her reply was short, because despite herself, Hadley had know idea what to say. She'd more or less encouraged him to join, to do what he wanted regardless of social conventions, but in the face of his courage, she was speechless and so very, very envious.

_Good for you._

As she worked on her homework, and spoke with Sam about inconsequential things, Hadley's mind returned to the question of personal identity, and the girl asked herself: who was she?

Once again, Hadley came to the conclusion that she didn't have a clue. If nothing else, however, Hadley knew she'd eventually find out.


	18. Shatterpoint I: HP Star Wars

**Shatterpoint**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or Star Wars. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.**Author:** tlyxor1.

**Author's Note:** What is this? This is disgusting.

Clearly, I need to work on the Star Wars side of things.

**Prologue **

They met in an empty clearing, as the moon shone bright overhead, and as wind whistled through the surrounding trees. Planet Earth was far from the known galaxy, deep within the reaches of wild space, where galaxies remained unexplored and uncharted.

The year was 1981, the date was the 1st of November, and the world's population, recently freed from oppression and fear, exulted.

An elderly man, clad in magenta robes but eyes sharp, cradled a baby swaddled in pink, and a man, bald and stern, waited. Between them, the silence was deafening.

The man with his silver hair and periwinkle eyes, interrupted the stalemate.

"Will you take her?"

Mace Windu nodded concisely, outstretched his arms, and curled them protectively around the slumbering baby. Her eyes flickered behind pale eyelids, a tiny hand clenched the edge of the blanket, and the man smiled.

"She will be raised as a jedi," he vowed, "Safe from the dangers of Lord Voldemort and his allies."

Albus Dumbledore smiled serenely, reached an age worn hand forward, and reverently brushed a baby soft cheek.

"That is all I ask." He looked around him, wary. "I must go."

One last glance to the baby cradled in Windu's arms, and he disappeared into thin air. His words echoed on the breeze. "May the force be with you, Gwen James."

**Author's Note:** I have no comment. Just… no.


	19. Taking Chances I: HP Avengers

**Taking Chances**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or Avengers. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** Once is coincidence. Twice is happenstance. Thrice is… fate? Tony Stark, Beth Potter, and a bad guy in want of world domination. Naturally. Post Deathly Hallows AU. Tony/fem!Harry.

**Rating:** M for language, violence, mild adult themes, and references to character death.

**Author:** tlyxor1.

**Prologue **

She caught his eye as soon as she'd entered the bar. A slinky black dress, curves in all the right places, and legs that seemed to go on for miles. porcelain complexion, dark red curls, and a Mona Lisa smile, she was a wonder, and Tony Stark was captivated.

"You're next conquest?"

He looked away, to Pepper, leant comfortably against Rhodey's side. The latter nursed a whisky, Pepper a fruity concoction he couldn't remember the name of, and Tony shook his head, no.

"Does she look like a 'love 'em and leave 'em' type?I was just… appreciating the view."

Pepper looked at him, aghast, and smiled. "Is that _maturity_ I'm hearing?"

Tony drained the last of his whiskey, and pointed a finger at her, jesting smile on his face. "Remember who pays you, Red."

Pepper threw her hands up in mock surrender, and Rhodey looked up from his scrutiny of the girl in question. "You should ask her to dance."

The industrial engineer rolled his eyes, exasperated. It had taken Rhodey and Pepper years, but the pair were finally blissfully, sickeningly in love, and they suddenly felt the need to make sure everyone they knew was feeling the good vibes, too.

As their mutual best friend, it went without saying that Tony was their favourite victim. It also went without saying that the gesture, as well-intentioned as it was, was also unappreciated.

"What is this? Prom? I'm sorry, but I don't _dance_."

"You never went to prom, dumbass," Rhodey answered. "That analogy is redundant."

"Your _face_ is redundant," Tony replied, the height of childish wit. He flipped his friend the bird, got to his feet, and approached the bar with his empty glass in hand. He was in need of a top up, and a glimpse of his friends' drinks had showed the same.

The club itself was a high end establishment, a bar and grill with the best steaks he'd eaten in years. They'd foregone dinner, however, for celebratory drinks, and as he leant heavily against the bar top, he concluded that it hadn't been the brightest of ideas. Movement beside him caught his attention, though, and he turned, mildly surprised to see the girl with the legs up to her armpits..

She acknowledge his attention with another of her enigmatic smiles, ordered a tray of drinks, and walked away.

He watched her go, and thought he'd never seen a girl with eyes so green.

he was strangely breathless.

**Author's Note:** I quite like this one. I'll probably continue it… eventually.


End file.
